Equal Opportunity
by Isobel Rowan
Summary: COMPLETED. A re-make of the ST:Voyager's ending, beginning with selected scenes from "Human Error" and including "Endgame." It will also have a post-Endgame storyline. Hopefully this will make more sense than the original finale, esp. for us J7 fans.
1. Unattainable

A/N: I needed a break from Living Daylights bc it gets harder to write the series. (That will teach me for doing a time travel story!) Anywho, I'm calling this a mashable story since I took parts of the episode from "Human Error" and "Endgame" and mashed them together until they made more sense than the original ending. Then added a happy ending. (P.S. I don't write code, so please suspend your disbelief there. You'll understand when you get to it.)

**Equal Opportunity  
><strong>Chapter One: Unattainable

U.S.S. Voyager somewhere in the Delta Quadrant  
>Stardate: circa 54672.7<p>

Voyager's Mess Hall was festooned with streamers and food and chatting crewmembers. B'Elanna Torres sat as a queen in the center of a sofa and she held up a square white cloth with a familiar embroidery and laughed. "Starfleet diapers."

"Standard issue," Harry Kim added about his baby shower gift.

"It will certainly come in handy."

Lt. Tom Paris, her husband, handed her another gift to open. Smiling, Captain Kathryn Janeway glanced up to see a curious look on the face of her Borg crewmember. She nonchalantly passed the refreshment table and took two flutes of synthehol and meandered toward Seven of Nine, who loitered uncomfortably on the periphery of the party.

"Seven," the Captain whispered, offering a glass.

Seven accepted it with a faint smile. "Thank you."

Seven held the glass stiffly as she continued to watch the happy couple open as they commented on gifts for their unborn child. The Captain sipped her wine, her eyes fixed on the beautiful face unmarred by Borg implants.

Seven felt the burn of the gaze and looked at the Captain for a moment before looking away. She swallowed hard.

"Now that you've had all of your Borg implants removed, have you considered having your own family one day?"

Seven whipped her gaze around. She watched as the backs of the Captain's fingers trailed her brow that had once been marked by the occipital implant over her left eye. "A child, perhaps," the Captain whispered. "And a…partner."

Seven leaned into the touch, but it was too late. The Captain dropped her hand, but she remained fixated on the Borg's reaction.

"A _partner_? Along the Ferengi line of thinking?"

The Captain smiled. Seven marked the crinkle lines around the joyful eyes and the lips that tugged up to reveal pearly teeth. It made her entire face light up. Seven realized she liked it.

"No. Heavens, no," the Captain said lightly. "I mean partner as in…" Then Janeway looked up, holding Seven with her piercing blue eyes. Then in a whisper that explained it all: "Lover."

"Lover," Seven repeated, as if tasting the word for the first time.

"You have thought about it, right?" she said after taking another sip of wine.

Seven felt herself stiffen. She was barely able to manage the day-to-day stress of platonic relationships. To embark on a sexual relationship with anyone would be like trying to light a candle in space. Again, she felt the prickle of the Captain's scrutiny and looked away just to be able to breath. "I have considered a relationship," Seven admitted haltingly.

"Oh? Is there a lucky person on board I should congratulate?"

Seven pursed her full lips slightly and squared her shoulders before looking back. "Self-congratulations are in order then."

Janeway's smile faded somewhat. "I don't think I understand, Seven."

"You, Captain," she said. "I want you."

Seven counted. It took Captain Janeway's face a mere two-point-six nanoseconds to blank. Then it took another point-three nanoseconds to fade to a mixture of alarm and regret. "Seven," she said gently. "I hope I haven't encouraged you by accident."

"You are my mentor and the archetype of intelligence and grace," she said. "You have been yourself. That is what I require."

The Captain strangled a small sound in her throat that Seven took to mean distress. "I'm sorry, Seven," she said. "I'm deeply flattered, but I am cannot bridge the gap between us."

"The gap?"

"You've said it yourself. I am your mentor. Your Captain. Your commanding officer."

"But I am not a member of Starfleet," Seven said, alarm growing in her face.

"No," she said. "But I still hold power over you. It would be a profound abuse of my oath as an officer to enter into a relationship with a member of my crew."

"Tell me you do not feel the same way," Seven said, with a lift of the chin.

Captain Janeway looked around before she spoke. Her features were soft with compassion. "No," she whispered. "I do not feel the same way."

"Computer, halt holodeck simulation."

The Captain was stopped mid-sentence, just as she was about to add more useless data to the rationale. Her lips were pulled together as in a kiss and her eyes were focused on Seven's lips.

Seven stepped around the holographic Captain. She glanced down to find the Captain's hand reaching out for her own. She touched her hand. It was a curious sensation. The feel was neither alive nor inanimate, but something in between. She had designed this holodeck program to assist in her further assimilation into the human culture with careful attention to the Janeway character, whom she'd asked the computer to model after the Captain's own journals.

"So this is rejection that I feel," Seven whispered to the holographic facsimile of her desires. "It is most painful."

She rounded the holographic body and stopped once again in front. She ran her fingertips over the auburn locks that flowed down in a large wave over her right ear. A finger traced the delicate eyebrow, down the chiseled cheek and along the jaw line to the faint dimple on her chin. Seven hooked her finger under the Captain's chin, kissing the holographic Captain lightly on the lips.

She felt an explosion of moisture between her legs and registered the acceleration of her heart rate. Seven leaned in and kissed the lips of the holographic Captain again. She palmed the Captain's cheek. She made sure to remember every detail, the small, round scar at the corner of Kathryn's eyebrow, the nearly purple starbursts of her irises, the pucker of her lips. It wasn't real but it evidently would be as close as she would get to holding the real woman.

A melancholy like the Borg had never known threatened to knock her off her feet and reached for something to steady herself. The shoulder under her hand felt real through the fabric of the holo-Janeway's uniform and she rubbed her thumb along the holo. "Goodbye, my Captain," she whispered before she closed her eyes and pressed her lips against the replica's.

Then Seven straightened, her hand still cupping Kathryn's cheek. "Computer, delete the Captain Janeway character in the Seven Lambda Seven program."

The Captain disintegrated away from her touch.

"_Character deleted."_

The Borg implants rematerialized on her face simultaneously and Seven was left standing, fluid in a halted timeflow. She continued to watch the spot where the Captain had stood, inhaling deeply. The distress manifesting into stabbing pains in her chest.

She pressed the heel of her hands to her chest and tried to rub it away. "My solution was faulty," she said in a monotone.

She tried to turn but stumbled instead, finding a holographic perch on the arm of the sofa where the unreal B'Elanna Torres held up another baby present, this one a mobile given to her by the Doctor.

The stabbing pain began to radiate to her back and then her head. "This is not real," she told herself.

But the ache was heedless of her plea.

"I require a substitute," she said to the frozen holograms that remained. She finally tore her eyes away from where the digital Janeway had stood to look around the holographic Mess Hall. Seven of Nine studied each of the female crewmembers, discarding each out of hand. Some already operated within a relational parameter, such as Lt. Torres. Some appeared to prefer exclusive heterosexual partnerships. She considered the possibility that Kathryn Janeway fell into this category as she had been engaged to marry at least two other males. The pain intensified and desperately, Seven groped for a something to relieve the vacuum that Kathryn left.

She stepped around one of the women and nearly staggered into the frozen and isomorphic projection of Commander Chakotay. She studied him head to toe. Even as Seven directed her mind from the loss, her pain subsided.

On the sexual scale, Chakotay was overwhelmingly masculine. His features were not altogether unappealingly and Seven had noted that other women found him attractive. She had never considered their relationship anything other than professional. Even now, she felt none of the electrostatic charges on the surfaces of her body as she had with the Captain. _Yet, he was attainable, unlike Kathryn Janeway, _she thought.

Her breathing became labored again as she thought of never having the one person she desired. Could she live with that? _There is a way._ She programmed several of her Borg nanoprobes, using them to target her pleasure centers.

But instead of repairing or assimilating, the Borg nanoprobes that would operate in her system for the rest of her life could also perform other functions. "Pavlov," she said of the Terran doctor who had discovered "conditioned response" to induced to stimuli.

She entered the functions of the 500 nanoprobes that she had released into her blood stream. It was a simple but elegant program: "private function

loadPleasure(event:Chakotay):stimulate{  
>var input:Kiss = new Object();<br>var op:HormoneOperation = :

var input:Caress = new Object();  
>var op:HormoneOperation = :<p>

var input:Embrace = new Object();  
>var op:HormoneOperation = : var op:HormoneOperation = =<br>= input;  
>(); }<p>

Seven considered the sparse words that would direct her nanoprobes to produce the desired physical effects. "In time, it will become real," she assured herself.

Then she programmed more nanoprobes. Their stimulus was a friendly Janeway and their output was pain, specifically the dilation of the blood vessels in her head and the induction of muscle tension in the neck and head all to induce a blinding headache. If the stimulus continued, the nanoprobes were directed to induce nausea and finally vomiting.

"I will train myself to live without you, Kathryn," she whispered.

She stepped in front of holo-Chakotay and slipped her hands behind her back. "Computer, resume program."

Immediately, Chakotay came to life, blinking as he nearly careened into Seven of Nine. "Seven," he said.

Seven allowed herself a faint smile, even as she felt the nanoprobes performing their duty to sufficiently stimulate her on his behalf. "Commander."

"We were just about to toast the happy couple, would you like to do the honors?"

She nodded once and turned to face the soon-to-be new parents, raising the flute to them. "My pleasure."


	2. Maybe Not

A/N: MF sexual warning in this chapter. I know, but it's a necessary evil.

**Equal Opportunity  
>Chapter Two<strong>

Cemetery on Earth  
>Stardate: 81121.07<p>

The wind was whipping Admiral Janeway's white mane as she stood on a hilltop watching the sunset. Her Starfleet coat buffeted on all sides, even as the tree limbs overhead swayed.

She was holding her hands solemnly in front of her, her eyes going over the name in the headstone: Chakotay. "So you see, I must go back," the Admiral said somberly. "I know you'll probably say I'm being impulsive…."

Admiral Janeway looked up and smiled, thinking of her friend and First Officer. Then in her mind's eye, the image shimmered and Seven of Nine stood beside him. The Borg's pose was marked by her customary stoicism and the Admiral's smile slipped.

The Admiral covered her eyes with her hand and forced her mind to the present. "I could tell you I'm doing this for the both of us…but you'd know I was lying. But the reality is I'm returning for her and…_to_ her."

Even as she whispered the name, Janeway trembled with a longing so profound, she wondered that the entire universe did not spiral into her heart like the black hole that it was. "Seven of Nine."

To see her death was like wrenching her very soul from her. When she lost Justin and then Mark, Janeway thought agony would her constant companion. But when she lost of Seven of Nine, she learned about true torment.

Chakotay had never been the same. But he'd known what the possibility of Seven of Nine's love. But Janeway was doomed to never know the beauty that could have been, all because of some bullshit bravado code. She wiped the tear that trailed her face. But she could change it all.

"Chakotay, I intend to save her, to save us…all of us. For you, that means you'll have to see her in my arms." Janeway looked up and nearly smiled. "It won't be easy, but maybe you'll be happier—you'll both be happier. I know I will. In any event, I've got to do what I think is right. But when I'm through, things might be better for all of us."

=/\=

U.S. Voyager somewhere in the Delta Quadrant  
>Stardate: 54973.4<p>

"Crewman Chell has inquired about taking over the Mess Hall fulltime," Chakotay said, handing Captain Janeway a padd as she sat on a couch in the upper deck of her Ready Room. "He's prepared a sample menu."

She took the padd and amusement bubbled up. "Plasma Leak Soup? Chicken Warp Core-don Blue!"

"If his cooking's as bad his puns, we're in trouble."

"Oh, I don't know. I'd love to give his Red Alert Chili a try," she said, looking up expectantly. "Have any plans for lunch?"

"I'd love to, but I've got plans. Rain check?"

"Absolutely."

=/\=

Twenty minutes later, Captain Janeway set down the padd she'd been reading. Seven of Nine had been working on applying Borg technology to the Deflector Dish. It had been a promising start. But there was something about the project that Janeway found worrisome.

She bolted upright from her desk. "Computer, locate Seven of Nine."

"_Seven of Nine is in Cargo Bay Two."_

Janeway marched down and stepped through the door. But she came up short. Her eyes scanned a red and white checkered table cloth laid out in an open space beside some storage units. Dirty dishes were carelessly strewn to the side by an empty wine bottle and a two wine glasses tipped over.

Chakotay was sitting beside Seven of Nine, a hand propped up on the other side of her hip. Seven's hand draped on his shoulders and their lips were fused—at least until the Cargo bay door swished closed behind the Captain.

A gasp strangled in the Captain's throat at the sight of Seven of Nine with lipstick. Smeared lipstick across her face and the face of her First Officer. She'd never realized they'd even had any interest in each other, much less were a couple.

"Captain?"

Captain Janeway had stared at Seven for so long, the sight of her First Officer standing beside her was startling.

"We are both off duty," he explained.

Janeway watched the sinuous curves of Seven contract and stretch as she rose to her full height.

"Is there something you require, Captain?" Seven's voice was serrated, even for the Borg.

It hadn't always been this way between them. Seven had just begun to slip away from her. _When did it start?_ she thought. "Two months ago." She didn't realize she'd answered aloud until Seven's sharp tone sliced her heart.

"Captain Janeway?"

Janeway saw the flinch just then. And right on cue, Seven's hand rubbed the back of her neck. Her right eye twitched. It was the same scenario, as if the Borg were now allergic to her Captain. "Seven, are you all right?"

"I am fine," she said through gritted teeth.

Janeway recoiled a step involuntarily from the venom and something else. _What do I hear there?_ she thought. _Anger? No, that's not quite it. Pain? No, it's more like misery. But why?_

"Did you require something, Captain?"

"No, no," she said. The Captain forced her feet still rather than allow the betrayal of another retreating step. "I just had questions about your project. I had asked the computer where you were and…" Janeway pivoted to see Chakotay's lipstick-free face studying her carefully. "Well, I didn't realize you weren't alone."

Janeway felt the wretchedness surge out and she rubbed her chin to cover it up. "In any event, carry…" _Shit_, she thought. _I'll be damned if I'm going to order them to "carry on!" Frankly, I don't even want them touching, much less…_

Janeway shook her head and the repulsive image of the pair together in bed slipped from her tortured mind. "I apologize. We'll discuss the project later."

=/\=

Several days later, in his quarters, Chakotay kissed Seven and his hand cupped a breast. Though she battled the man's tongue in her mouth, Seven spared a portion of her awareness to catalog her reaction, all of them within normal parameters. Her respiration and heart rate had accelerated. Moisture cascaded down her vagina and she felt her clitoris swell. But it was all mere data, as if it were occurring to someone else.

During each encounter, the nanoprobe-stimulated reactions were all identical. There was never any wavering from her reactions, though sometimes Chakotay kissed her breasts and rubbed the seam of her pants.

"You're so quiet," he murmured against her throat.

"Do you wish to discuss something?" she asked. Seven lifted her head to allow him more room. But it was a gesture of courtesy, rather than desire.

The man chuckled against her. Though the vibrations were pleasant enough, there was no accompaniment of intensity. It was the same plateau she reached. _Plateau is an incorrect rendering,_ Seven thought, as if she were outlining her research at a scientific symposium. _Plateau denotes elevation. This phase of my sexual encounter can be characterized as merely an increase of my awareness of the excitement rather than an enjoyment of it._

"Seven," he mumbled. "Relax."

"I am relaxed, Commander."

The man was naked and she was well on her way to being so. "I think you can call me Chakotay. Remember?"

"Ah, yes," she said, as he laid her back on the bed.

Even as he entered her, she wondered about the term orgasm. _It was supposedly the next phase and yet, I do not believe I have experienced it, _she thought. Chakotay had been sympathetic, blaming it on the Borg implants or the Borg psychology or the Borg influence or her own anxiety. With the same detachment, Seven catalogued his own reaction to her lack of response. She was quite amazed at the human male capacity for creativity when it involved their own penis. _Or would that be penii? Or penises?_ Seven made a mental note to inquire with the language database on the plural of penis.

"Seven," Chakotay said, pushing up on both arms. He peered down at her.

She blinked for a moment, realizing that she was not in fact in the Astrometrics lab or the Scientific Symposium that she fantasized about. But she was under him and he was inside of her.

"You're hurting me," he said in a strained voice.

She tipped her head. "Commander?"

"Your legs are squeezing me too tight, Seven," he wheezed.

Only then did she realize that he was indeed correct. Her legs were compressing his midsection. She unfolded them but was forced to keep them splayed.

"I apologize, Commander. I was…"

"Excited?" he said with a ridiculously smug look.

She was going to say "preoccupied" but then she did not want him to know her mind's incessant meanderings during their copulation. "Yes," she lied.

His grin intensified, as if he were the cause. "Maybe we'll get you there this time," he said, as he lowered himself to nip her chin.

"Get me where, Commander?"

He reached down and touched between her legs. She grimaced and he mistook it for pleasure. "Here, Seven."

She wondered why the human male—or perhaps it was just this one—was so fixated on _her_ orgasm. _In theory, I could concentrate on my own pleasure with the same fervor I invest in my work—and that with Borg single-minded intensity,_ she thought. _I could produce this elusive orgasmic peak, surely._ But she did not require that peak. _The closeness and the distraction were enough._

"Oh, Seven, I'm coming," he murmured as he thrust one last time.

She performed two counts in her head. One was the length of his orgasm, which was approximately one-point-five minutes and the other was the number of times he called her baby. It was a nonsensical term that she found quite offensive.

_She had even asked him once about the name, after their second copulation. He had just crawled off of her, falling down beside her._

"_It's just an affectionate name, Seven," he said sleepily into his pillow. His back was to her._

_She propped herself up on an elbow. "It is not a reference to how you see me as _underdeveloped_ or _infantile_?"_

"_God, no!" he had said, lifting himself. "Do you think I'm a pedophile?"_

"_Do _you_ believe you are a pedophile?" she quipped. _

_He whipped around to search her face. "Are you kidding?"_

"_No," she said with a frown. "I do not believe I have given any indication that I kid." Seven tipped her head to one side. "However, is the word 'kid' not also a reference to a child?"_

_He jumped out of bed. "Seven," he said. "This isn't funny."_

"_Nor did I intend it to be. But I find the word 'baby' to be insulting."_

"_Really?"_

"_Did I not say it?"_

_He sat next to the bed and took her hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles. "It means I love you."_

_She had realized her tactical error too late. She had not even been certain she _liked _Chakotay. She had expected this diversionary experiment to reach its natural conclusion and yet, it persisted. But this was a new escalation, one she had never anticipated before. _

"_Seven? Now I'm the one who isn't joking, you know."_

_She opened her mouth to speak but could think of no words to say. _Perhaps this confusion _is_ love,_ Seven had thought. _

In the present, Seven blinked and found the obsidian eyes studying her. "What were you thinking?" he asked as he planted a kiss on her bare shoulder.

But it was Captain Janeway who saved her from answering. "Senior officers report to the bridge," the Captain ordered over the comm system.

=/\=

"I'm detecting nadion discharges on the other side of the rift," Lt. Tuvok said, as he carefully watched his console.

"Weapons fire?" Janeway asked.

"It's possible," he said. "The signature appears to be Klingon."

"Red Alert," Janeway said and the ship-wide klaxon sounded.

"There is a vessel coming through the rift."

"Klingon?" Chakotay asked.

"No, Federation," Tuvok clarified.

A Federation shuttle flew out of the temporal anomaly.

"Captain, we're being hailed," Kim said.

Her eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. "Onscreen," the Captain said, as she stood.

The only thing different was the white hair and the years etched around her eyes, but Janeway recognized her older self.

"Recalibrate your deflector to emit an anti-tachyon pulse," the elder Janeway ordered. "You have to seal that rift."

"It's usually considered polite to introduce yourself before you start giving orders," Captain Janeway said.

"Captain, a Klingon vessel is coming through," Tuvok said.

"Close the rift!" the older Janeway ordered imperiously. "In case you didn't notice, I outrank you, _Captain_. Now do it!"

=/\=

There had been meetings—several in fact between Admiral Janeway and the Captain and her crew. Admiral Janeway had insisted on this new course into a nebula crawling with Borg cubes, one that the Captain had already considered too dangerous.

Now they find out why. A transwarp hub was inside that nebula, which explained why Borg cubes were swarming there.

Captain and Admiral Janeway, along with Chakotay stood in the Astrometrics Lab while Seven briefed them on the transwarp hub and its interspatial manifolds. "It allows the Borg to deploy cubes anywhere in the galaxies in minutes," Seven said.

"Can we destroy the structure inside?"

Admiral Janeway crossed her arms, her displeasure was like fire licking at the three subordinates. "You can't destroy it," the Admiral said. "You must take the hub back to the Alpha Quadrant."

"Find a way to destroy the hub," Janeway ordered. To the Admiral, she said: "Let's take a walk."

Out in the corridor, Janeway lectured her older self about what this could mean to stopping the Borg's nightmarish living death march in the galaxy.

"You made the wrong choice once, Captain," the Admiral said with an unflinching stare. "You destroyed the Caretaker's Array. You put the lives of strangers ahead of your crew. This transwarp hub will get you home today."

"You made it home," the Captain said. "I will too. We are willing to take the long way home if we can deal a crippling blow to the Borg—"

"Seven of Nine is going die," the Admiral said.

"What?"

"Three years from now, she'll be injured on an away mission."

The Captain's expression turned grave, deeply shadowed.

"She will die in the arms of her husband."

"Husband?"

"Chakotay."

The Captain brushed her mouth with the back of her hand. "Seven…" Then she remembered she wasn't alone and she looked up to find a maddening compassion reflected in the eyes of the Admiral and she looked away.

"She's the reason I'm here," the Admiral whispered, even as a hand squeezed the Captain's shoulder. "I'm here for both of you."

Captain Janeway shrugged the Admiral's hand from her and hardened her stare. "What do mean? The both of us? Chakotay is the one she loves." She scowled when her voice broke at the end.

The Admiral's eyes stayed soft and her chin trembled. "You could lie to everyone else, my dear. But not to me because I _know_, Katie."

The Captain batted angrily at the mist in her eyes. "I saw them the other day in Cargo Bay Two…"

"On a picnic," the Admiral supplied, her eyes growing unfocused at her own distant memories. "It was their third date."

"They were kissing when I interrupted them."

"I remember," the Admiral replied. "Seven had already begun to act like she hated me…hated us." Her steel blue eyes met the younger woman's and heartache was telegraphed between them.

"I don't understand it," she said with a sigh.

"Neither did I until I got drunk with the widower Chakotay only a few years ago now, though it seems like yesterday," she said, scratching her head. The Admiral indicated for the Captain to proceed down the corridor to their quarters. "In only three years, he wondered if Seven even loved him."

Captain Janeway stopped. "I don't want to hear this, Admiral."

"Not the Temporal Prime Directive thing again?" The Admiral's lips were pursed in a frown.

"Seven and I…" the Captain shook her head. "It can never be."

"You don't know that!"

"Yes, I do!"

"Bullshit, Katie!"

The Captain looked down the corridor. "Keep your voice down," she hissed.

"I'm old!" she replied. "I can say what I damn well please. Please don't deprive me of one of the few benefits of aging."

"All right, let's say we get home. There is nothing to say they still won't marry," the Captain said with a voice laced with open grief.

"No," the Admiral purred. "In all likelihood, they will probably still marry. But it won't last."

Captain Janeway put her hands on her hips and shook her head derisively. "This is all conjecture!" she said, throwing her hands up in disgust.

"Maybe!" Admiral Janeway said to the Captain's back as she continued to march ahead. "But I'll give you the chance you'd never dare give to yourself…" The Admiral frowned as she considered her statement. "That sounded funny. But you know what I mean. It's really confusing trying to convince your younger self—younger and _mulish_ self—to do the best thing."

Janeway hopped onto a turbo life and glared at her older self as she stepped on. "Deck 3," she barked.

"In any event, Captain, if you don't use this transwarp hub to get home, you'll lose 22 other crewmembers."

The Captain's features were grave.

"And Seven."

She looked away, anguish darkening her features.

"And the only chance at happiness that I'm giving my life for."

The Captain's voice was broken when she spoke. "What did you find out? About Seven and Chakotay?"

"He started to wonder if her reactions to him were choreographed somehow?"

Their eyes met and the Admiral added: "Somehow he believed her behavior was a 'programmed' response."

"But why? She's Borg after all."

"Can I finish?" the Admiral asked impatiently.

The Captain waved a hand.

"When you get the chance, Katie, and I know you will…ask Seven about her dreams. If I'm right, the truth lies there."

"Truth lies…" the Captain repeated, with an eye roll. "Even your phrases are contradictory."

The Admiral cupped the Captain's chin her hand and shook it slightly, as if talking to a child. "Be open to her, for once in your god-damned life, Katie! When the time is right, be open to her. Promise me."

The Captain's eyes watered but she stubbornly walled up the tears. "Fine."

The Admiral released her younger self, nodded once and tugged her uniform down. "All right," she said. "Let's talk about how we can destroy the Borg Queen and get you home."


	3. Vacancy

A/N: There is a retelling of parts of "Infinite Regress" in this story.

**Equal Opportunity  
><strong>Chapter Three:

San Francisco, North American Sector  
>Stardate: 55636.07<p>

Kathryn Janeway carelessly tossed a satchel by the door, rivulets of water sluicing down to puddle on the antique chestnut wood planks.

"Damn," she murmured as she kneed the end table by the door. It wobbled, along with the corded lamp that stood sentinel. She grabbed the pear-shaped porcelain lamp just before it belly flopped over the edge. "Mother!" she hissed to no one. "How did I ever let you talk me into this house?"

It was an Italianate townhouse that looked like a tall white cake with broad strokes of icing across the top and around the tall bay windows in the coveted Pacific Heights neighborhood of San Francisco. More than 500 years old, it held up nicely. The chestnut wood flooring was warm, along with the plush sofas and tables.

It was called quaint more than once by the agent selling the house to her. She'd been home three months and Starfleet Command was getting a little impatient with her absence from the new post at Headquarters. So her mother had joined her several weeks later I n San Francisco to help her find a home.

Her mother Gretchen urged her adamantly that _this_ was the house. She'd been too exhausted, after working twenty hour days to give more than a cursory look.

It wasn't until her sister helped her move in that she'd learned the real meaning of "quaint": the three bedroom home, with breathtaking views of the bay, was devoid of the modern conveniences of replicators and transporter pads. Or even a central processor to control lighting or window transparency.

She turned the knob of the lamp and it flashed its inefficient incandescence, flooding the sparsely furnished room with light. She looked down at her black boots. She was standing in a half inch of water.

"Oh, dear," she said, wishing not for the hundredth time that she could transport from Starfleet Headquarters to home. The little requirement hadn't seemed important at the time. "Probably because it hadn't been raining," Janeway said aloud.

Janeway hung her sopping raincoat on an antique coat rack that looked more like a tree—a housewarming gift from her sister Phoebe.

Janeway wiped the dripping rain from her forehead and went in search of something to clean up the mess. Janeway returned to the scene of the crime with a thick new towel in tow.

The only modern convenience the house did have was a communication station, which was installed in the kitchen. Usually it wasn't very convenient since Kathryn didn't bother with cooking her own meals. But tonight, she was hungry.

On her way to the pantry, she checked her video messages. She opened the door while she listened to a message from her mother.

Kathryn leaned her cheek against the edge of the pantry as she contemplated the ways to prepare the meager rations of dried wheat biscuits, a stasis tube of Andorran olives and a bottle of Martian whiskey, half empty.

"_Hello, Katie. It's your mother."_

"I know ma," she murmured, as she hoisted the sealed blue olives that were swimming in Andorran sea water.

"_You'll never guess who I spoke with today."_

"The Borg Queen," she said with a smirk as she opened the cold storage box.

"_I spoke with Mark…Mark Johnson and you'll never guess what he told me."_

Kathryn rolled her eyes. "I think I'd rather you talked to the Borg Queen."

"_He lives in your development! In your old house. He never sold it!"_

Kathryn turned sharply to see the recorded image of her mother, with collar length white hair down to her collar. Her blues still twinkled despite being nearly 70 years old. Kathryn tried to slam the cold storage box, but it softly thudded to a close.

"_He and Marielle—that's his wife—live just there. Can you imagine the coincidence?"_

Kathryn inhaled deeply, as she pounded the controls with a fist. She hit the message center skip button and shook her head as she walked away. As she arranged the crackers on a plate, she heard the sound of eerie music and the din of people carousing. Then she heard a voice she hadn't heard in months—once it had been daily.

"_Captain? I mean Admiral—oh, hell, I'm not in Starfleet anymore—Kathryn. Hey, Kathryn. It's Tom Paris."_

She turned to see Tom Paris, with a red button up shirt holding a glass of wine up, as if he were toasting her.

"_Where the hell are you?"_

His words were definitely slurred.

"_You're the only one of us not here at Seven and Chakotay's wedding ceremony."_

Kathryn felt like a knife had punctured her lungs. She found it difficult to breath and the pain in her chest felt like someone was jumping on it. She replayed the beginning and paused it. She played it again, stopping this time when she saw a blurry vision of billowy white dress in the distance.

"Seven got married," she muttered, slumping back against the counter. Then she halted the video message playback to scroll through her inbox. _Nothing from Seven or Chakotay._ She spied the stacks of archaic paper on her dining room table and sifted through those.

Realization was a thousand slices of a serrated knife to her heart. She dropped her head back and closed her eyes. "Well, Admiral Janeway…" she mused aloud. "You were right. They got married. I wasn't invited. What am I supposed to do now?"

"_It won't last." _The words of Admiral Janeway, who did not exist in this timeline, echoed through to her regardless. _"Be open to her."_

Janeway's eyes snapped open. "She's not open to me, Admiral. So what then?"

She chopped the pantry controls with the side of her fist and chucked the olive tube inside with a hard thud, leaving a dent in the delicate antique wall. Then she snatched the Martian whiskey, uncorking it as she did.

The first shot burned down her throat. Only when she had to gasp for air did she move the bottle from her lips. Kathryn coughed and beat her chest with the heel of her hand. Only then did she restart Tom's message.

She jumped up on the counter, beside the plate of crackers as the video resumed.

"_The ceremony was lovely, if a little rushed…"_ He winked into the screen, earning a head slap from his wife, who suddenly appeared beside him.

"_Hello, Admiral,"_ B'Elanna Torres said. _"What Tom means is that the happy couple is expecting! Double good news."_

Janeway grimaced and downed another slug of whiskey, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her damp uniform. "Terrific," she murmured.

"_So you'll get to be Aunty Kathy,"_ Tom said with a hiccup as he rubbed the back of his head.

Though she was fond him, Kathryn wanted to slap the insolent smirk off his adorable face. "Aunty Kathy my ass," she murmured.

Off camera, Janeway could hear B'Elanna murmur something, making Tom turn. _"Oh, yeah,"_ he said, leaning over to kiss his wife. The Admiral heard a smack of lips but she was spared the sight of any contact. _Thank heavens,_ she thought. He turned back with a smear of lipstick across his lips. _"B'Elanna reminded me of the other news...Chakotay accepted a position at Starfleet Academy."_

She cringed slightly. "Oh, God. Let's hope they stationed him on Psi Upsilon—"

"_In San Fran."_

Janeway hurled a stale chip at the monitor. "Fuck!"

"_So let's plan on having a reunion in oh, say…"_ Tom looked to his wife.

"_Six months,"_ B'Elanna said off camera.

"_Then we'll reunion…I mean reunite in seven months. That'll give them one month to recover."_

"_It took you six months,"_ B'Elanna said.

"_Yeah, but it's Chakotay we're talking about,"_ he said. _"He's perfect." _Tom waggled his eyes and Kathryn snorted.

"He's perfect," Kathryn mocked at the screen. "Like hell."

"_Wrap it up, Tom. The Admiral is a busy lady."_

Kathryn drew her lips into a sad little line. "Yeah, real busy not living."

Janeway's mood soured quickly and she shut the message playback for later, much, much later. Like when she after she'd swam in whiskey for a few hours. She tipped her head back and opened her mouth, letting the dark amber liquid cascade down her throat. She inhaled deeply and bared her teeth at the long burn down her throat.

Janeway stumbled to the living room, kicking and shoving padds from the couch to the floor. She jumped with every loud crash of a padd on the wooden floors. Finally, she fell back and sat upright enough to finish the liquor. Then Kathryn Janeway fell into a long sleep and an erotic dream.

=/\=

_Janeway sat back and laughed, as Chakotay exited her Ready Room. His straight face belied the mirth he'd brought his captain. "Oh, my friend," she said, turning over the tall water sculpture that he had given her. _

"_It symbolizes long life," he had said on presenting the Captain. "That is what I wish for you on your birthday."_

_She was pleasantly surprised and was grateful. "It's lovely, Chakotay" she said, handling it carefully. "Did you replicate this?"_

_He arched a brow. "No, I didn't. It was something I picked up on the trading station a few parsecs back. The merchant told me what it meant and I just felt like you needed that on your birthday."_

_Janeway placed it prominently in the corner of her desk. "It's lovely," she said. "Thank you again."_

_She turned back to her station when the chime to her Ready Room tolled and a tall Borg entered. She was wearing the lovely blue biosuit, Janeway noticed. "How can I help you, Seven?"_

_Seven marched in with familiar Borg efficiency. But something had changed when she looked down at Chakotay's gift. Seven arched her brow and then her eyes meandered up Janeway's body, as she stood. The Captain got the distinct feeling she was being sexually appraised. The smirk on Seven's sensual lips left no doubt._

"_Seven? Are you all right?" Clearly this was not like the Borg._

_Seven lifted her chin to the water sculpture. "I'm game," she said._

_Janeway's brows flickered, momentarily taken aback by Seven's change in demeanor and syntax. "Excuse me?"_

_Seven leaned forward, touching the sculpture provocatively with a finger. Then she sucked on her own fingertip. Janeway stared at the seam where Seven's finger disappeared and grew unexpectedly flush. Without a second thought, Janeway unzipped her uniform jacket. She lifted her eyes to catch a surprising leer._

"_You don't seem like yourself today," Janeway said casually, trying to quell the astonishing feelings of arousal that rippled through her body_. Clearly, this is a misunderstanding,_ she told herself. But her body seemed to have other ideas._

"_Your horga'hn…" Seven gestured toward the gift from her First Officer. "I accept."_

_Janeway tipped her head and wrinkled her brows. "My what?" Her voice crackled in the question._

_Seven hoisted the water sculpture. "Your horga'hn. In my homeworld, it is the symbol of fertility," she said._

"_Your homeworld?" Janeway asked as she watched Seven replace the object on her desk._

_While the Captain again turned to study the statuette, Seven leapt forward, taking her in her arms. Captain Janeway squeaked, making Seven smile—a tight-lipped tug that was at once mirthful and carnal. "I accept the invitation," she said. _

"_Invit—?"_

_Seven's mouth covered Janeway's, her tongue licking away the response from the Captain's mouth. When Seven filled her hand with the Captain's breast, Janeway moaned long and low. _

"_Seven," the Captain rasped. "Touch me." Her breathing was labored and her eyes were hooded._

_Seven roughly backed the older woman to her desk, hauling her up. "I'm going to do more than just touch you," she said. "I'm going to make you my woman."_

"_Oh, God, yes," the Captain said in a hoarse voice._

_A corner of Seven's mouth was pulled up as she held Janeway's deeply blue eyes and tugged up the undershirt until her fingertips found the soft hidden skin. Then she nearly ripped the zipper of Janeway's trousers when she lowered it. _

_Seven's lips nibbled down Kathryn's jaw to her earlobe, while the redhead rubbed one of the woman's breasts through the blue biosuit. One of Seven's hands slipped into the woman's trousers and Janeway fell back, lifting a leg up to allow for more access._

"_Oh, Captain, you're so wet," Seven whispered. "I fucking love that."_

"_Oh," Kathryn said, her fingers slipping into Seven's blonde strands, freeing them of their confines. "Oh, God, I want this."_

"_I know you do," Seven chuckled as she shoved the woman's shirt up with the other hand. "I want it—wanted you. I've always wanted you."_

_Janeway sobbed and held onto Seven even as the woman's fingers slipped into the slick, swollen depths and her lips sucked the tawny tips. "Oh, darling…Oh, my darling, Seven, I love you…." Even as her orgasm erupted, Lt. Tuvok voice permeated the room through the comm system. _

"_Seven has been contained inside the Captain's Ready Room," he said. _

_Still clinging to Seven of Nine, Janeway sobbed again even as her Chief of Security walked into her office._

=/\=

Though it was just a dream, Janeway cried out in orgasm—in a climax that was stifled by the appearance of the Vulcan and her own rude awakening. Her eyes snapped open and she groaned, feeling the faint contractions between her legs. She tried to recapture the feeling of being in Seven's arms, but the fleeting moment of the nocturnal hallucination was gone and Janeway's arms felt empty. "Oh, Seven," she whispered.

Despite it being only a dream, she felt the moisture of her arousal, even as she had felt the pulsations of her clitoris when the touch it desperately needed had finally been granted by the conjured strokes of her subconscious.

She flung an arm over her eyes when the moon's light hit her eyes through the open window. She relived the dream a moment, knowing its origins were grounded in the first moments of her attraction to the Borg woman.

The stardate had been 52356.2, only a year after Seven had joined the crew. A subspace Borg interlink frequency had activated at least 14 personalities inside of Seven, including a Vulcan, a Klingon and a woman from Risa, who was a lesbian.

"It was never Seven who kissed me," Janeway mused aloud in the present, touching her fingertips to her lips. She could still feel the Borg's fiery lips on her own, could feel her generous breasts pressed into her own and a wondering hand seeking to unwrap her uniform.

In reality, Seven had had only the opportunity to take the Captain in her arms and to kiss her once when Lt. Tuvok had tracked her down to the Captain's Ready Room. But the bell had been rung for Captain Kathryn Janeway and it could never be unrung.

That was the moment the erotic dreams about Seven of Nine had started. Had she been in the Alpha Quadrant, Janeway would have transferred Seven of Nine off her ship. It was unthinkable to be on the verge of obsession over a crewmember, much less one who never even enlisted.

But they were not in the Federation and Janeway couldn't just put Seven off the ship. Seven of Nine was her responsibility, after the Captain had freed her from dependence on the Borg Collective.

Kathryn pushed herself up from the couch, where'd she'd fallen asleep. The empty whiskey bottle slipped from her lap and crashed the floor. Her head announced with a searing throb that consuming that much genuine alcohol had been a mistake. She gingerly massaged her temples. "Damn," she said. "Hung over and hungry for a Borg."

Her elbows fell to her knees and shoved herself up. She meandered to her bedroom, the moon's light kissing the cold, empty bed. There on her nightstand was the water sculpture that one of Seven's assimilated personalities had mistaken for a _horga'hn_, a symbol of fertility on Risa that was now a widely accepted signal that the owner was open to _jamaharon_, a mysterious and pleasurable sexual practice native to that world.

Janeway picked it up and held it to her breast. "Seven of Nine," she whispered. "I miss you."


	4. Equal At Last

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews. They mean the world to me. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.**

**Equal Opportunity  
><strong>Chapter 4: Equality At Last

Admiral Janeway looked down at her padd when her sister received the message feed from her. She looked up briefly, seeing her raven-haired sister in the familiar setting of her own kitchen in Pacific Heights.

"You made it," Kathryn said, still thumbing through a padd.

"_Yeah, and what a surprise for me."_

Kathryn finally looked up, puzzled. Her eyebrows were scrawls across her brow. "What do you mean?"

Phoebe rolled her violet eyes. "_I thought I had the wrong house. I walk in and instead of finding a warm, inviting—or even just a house that looks like it's been lived in—I find this beautiful gingerbread house that's dusty…" Phoebe wrinkled her nose. "With barren walls. And a sofa and a bed. That's it! Nothing else!" _

"Are you really bitching about my décor, Phoebe?"

"_Am I really? You've lived here nearly four years…480 months, for Pete's sake! Your walls are so fucking white and blank, I was blinded for two hours after I turned the lights on."_

Kathryn hooked a finger over her strong chin. "Mom is right. You _are_ a drama queen."

Phoebe turned off camera and pointed in a direction. _"That way, boys."_

Kathryn saw a scrawny boy and a man with salt and pepper hair as they carried a large sealed box through the kitchen. Both were huffing for air. "Who is that?"

Phoebe snapped her head back and glared. _"Be nice,"_ she whispered, before saying in a normal voice: _"Thank you, Sam and Mark."_

Kathryn's face became flinty. "Mark Johnson?" she asked, her voice dropping several registers.

Phoebe brushed the dark strands from her shoulder. _"Oh, get over it. Mark and I are friends—almost as long as you and he. How do you think I beamed over? I certainly didn't walk here from the nearest transporter transfer station, you know."_

Kathryn's lips turned white and she squinted at the monitor. "You used his _home_ transporter?"

"_Marielle is lovely,"_ Phoebe said. _"Just lovely. They said they saw you a few months ago. You were actually eating out with someone and had a smile on your face."_

Kathryn looked up, thinking. "Hmm. Maybe it was during the conference…"

"_Anyone I know?"_ Phoebe asked suggestively, wagging her eyebrows.

Kathryn straightened when she felt her sister's scrutiny. "Oh, I don't know? Do you know the Cardassian Minister of War?"

Phoebe crinkled her nose. _"Ah, that would be no. And I'm hoping it was just business then."_

"It was," she said, returning her gaze to the array of padds on her desk.

"_You know,"_ she said. _"I did not think it was possible, but you have become even more dull than Dad."_

Kathryn pretended to laugh. "Oh, Phoebe," she whispered. "_Whatever_ would I do without your thoughtful insight. It's just miraculous how you can just change my entire world with a small comment."

Phoebe pursed her lips. _"Sarcasm ages you, Katie. I'd be careful about using it too much."_

Kathryn looked around to make sure her assistant had left her office. "Whatever you're doing to my house, undo it! Now."

"_I think you have me confused with one of your crewmembers—"_

Kathryn leapt from her chair, making Phoebe jump. "You are so lucky we have a situation…"

Phoebe's natural cat-like curiosity was piqued and she forgot crossing the line with her sister. _"What situation?"_

Only then did Phoebe notice the uniform clad underlings buzzing behind Kathryn and around her desk.

"I can't speak of it now, but it's a serious issue along the—"

"_Cardassian border?"_

"Phoebe," Kathryn said in her sternest command voice. "You know I can't discuss it. Let's just say, you should probably plan on eating dinner alone. Maybe even breakfast."

Phoebe leaned against the ice chest. _"I'll just turn on the news, you know."_

"You do that," she snapped. "In the meantime, get rid that shit you brought with you. Love you, bye."

=/\=

Kathryn's assistant Lt. Powers poked her head through the door. "Admiral," she said. "Paris is starting."

Kathryn closed the screen of her workstation and stood up. "Any more news?"

Lt. Powers pursed her lips. "Word is the Breen have raided a Cardassian colony just six light years from Cardassia Prime."

Kathryn's eyebrows rose. No one threatened the Cardassians with impunity.

She stepped into the conference room. Being at Starfleet HQ, the meeting room was state-the-art starting with the fine oak grained table with built-in communication consoles, as well as 3-D projection with integrated tactical of the entire Quadrant. It was also filled with a sea of red uniforms and more pips and bars than a Starfleet parade back home.

Admiral Alynna Necheyev had seemed to hold court as the only female among the Flag Staff, until Janeway's arrival. Now, the woman nodded once out of courtesy as Janeway entered. There were some old friends among the other admirals, including Owen Paris, Tom's father. She slipped into a chair next to him even as the Fleet Admiral stepped into the room, accompanied by at least three assistants.

Edward Jellico gestured toward the 3-D projection. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This morning a fleet of Breen Confederacy warships crossed the Demilitarized Zone, destroyed Deep Space 3—all hands were lost in the attack, including Admiral Marcus Holt. A total of 125 souls."

Jellico clasped his hands and bowed his head for a minute. The projection scene showed the 12 Breen warships blowing the Deep Space 3 station to bits in a few blasts. "As you can see," the Fleet Admiral continued. "The Breen are just as formidable as when they joined the Dominion Alliance against us."

"Is the Dominion involved in this flagrant disregard of the Lakarian Peace Accords?" Owen Paris asked of the treat signed between the Dominion and its allies and the Federation.

Jellico pointed toward the projection again. "Take a look." Seven warships of an unknown type shimmered into prominence from behind cloaking devices. "Kathryn, do these ships look like anything out of the Delta Quadrant?"

She studied the sleek silver lines of the ships. "I've never seen anything like them," she admitted.

Jellico grimaced. "I was afraid of that. It appears we have a new threat, greater than anything the Borg could ever pose." He nodded toward the projection again. "Two—just two—alien ships were reported on the sensors of Starbase 515 in the Epsilon IX sector. Five minutes later, that Starbase _and the planet_ were obliterated, according to telemetry sent by subspace just before the explosion."

"What do they want?" Necheyev asked.

"We don't know, but they are headed our way."

Murmurs of concern erupted and Jellico waved his arms at the command staff. "We've faced the Borg and now they're the rubble of history. I can assure you that our Federation will stand and it better. I will not allow an incursion to Sector Zero Zero One on my watch. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Admiral," the group replied.

He nodded once. "I've recruited someone special for this mission. She has served in a special position in Starfleet Research now for a number of years, after serving four years…" Jellico glanced at Janeway. "In the Delta Quadrant. She knows the Borg intimately. Kathryn, you should know who I'm talking about."

_Seven of Nine!_ Janeway sat up, trying to keep the giddy feeling from brimming up. This was no time for school girl foolishness. Another long war loomed ahead of them, if diplomacy failed. _But Seven of Nine is here!_

On the heels of that last thought, Jellico gestured to the door and Seven of Nine stepped through. Nearly six feet of buxom Borg was simply stunning in the red and black of Starfleet command. Janeway's eyes followed the gold piping along her jacket toward the luscious neck to finally rivet to the two gold pips enclosed by a bar on her collar.

Seven nodded, pointedly lifting her eyes to Janeway.

Jellico offered his hand and the Borg took it comfortably, shaking in return. Janeway noted that she held not the least bit of anxiety with the attention. Jellico's voice brought Admiral Janeway back. "I present to you Admiral Seven Hansen, who holds the distinction of being the First Borg at Starfleet command."

"First Borg on staff," Seven clarified. "Others were here previous to me but they were attempting assimilation."

Some of the admirals laughed, thinking that Seven was trying to be humorous. Janeway knew better. Seven had always been a perfectionist, and information required every bit of precision as any other endeavor. Jellico smiled briefly before turning to Janeway. "Kathryn, I do hope you'll take our newest addition to the Command staff under your wing."

"It will be my pleasure," she said. "But if I know Seven—and I certainly do—then she'll be a quick study and before too long, she'll succeed you, Admiral Jellico."

"I hope so," he said genuinely. "Let's get to it then. I want a plan of action and I want it yesterday."

=/\=

It took them thirty minutes, but eventually, after all of the congratulatory handshakes and welcome back pats were done, the former Captain and the Borg drone she'd severed from the Collective were finally alone in Janeway's office.

Janeway collected several padds from her desk. "Here are some important background data—strictly confidential—of the Breen." Then as an afterthought, Kathryn posed: "Perhaps you've seen it already?"

Seven tipped her head to one side, her arms slipped behind her back. "No, I have not. I was conducting research at Los Alamos yesterday afternoon and then I was here with a promotion."

Janeway stopped, a hand hovering over her desk. She straightened and ran her fingers through her hair. "I'm sorry, Seven. Starfleet Headquarters is a mad maelstrom of—"

"Misery?" Seven offered unexpectedly.

Janeway flushed slightly. "Do I look…" She glanced down at her own uniform and straightened it self-consciously. Then Kathryn tried to smooth a nonexistent wrinkle from her cheek with the back of her hand. "Do I look miserable?"

Seven offered a small smile and a faint shake of her head. "No, Admiral," she replied. "You look _engaged_ in your work. That is what I meant to communicate. I apologize," she said, looking around her at Janeway's Spartan office. "The alliteration game is one I play with my children?"

Janeway looked stricken. "Your children?"

"Two boys," she said. Seven smiled when she saw the replicator. "I believe this is the appointed time index for your cup of coffee. Would you care for some?"

Janeway gave her a half smile and finally relaxed somewhat. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I haven't even taken the time to catch up with you."

Janeway watched Seven's feline stride as she carried the large cup of the caffeinated beverage. She gingerly handed it to Kathryn, their smiling eyes meeting when their fingers brushed during the exchange.

"There is no need to apologize, Admiral," she said. "As I said—"

"Kathryn," Janeway said. "I think you can call me Kathryn now. We're equals now, _Admiral Hansen_."

Seven's lips barely tugged up. "Very well… _Kathryn_."

Kathryn watched with utter fascination as the Borg seemed to taste the word, swirled it in her mouth and then form her name with such reverence. She wanted to laugh out loud and declare that she wasn't old enough to be a relic and to stop treating her that way. But Kathryn decided against it.

"I have two boys—Erik and Haakon."

Kathryn gestured for them to sit in the sofa chairs, at right angles to each other. "Two boys. They must be fairly close in age."

Seven's air of lightness dissipated briefly. "Yes, they were born in quick succession approximately fourteen months apart," she said. A mechanical rhythm returned to her voice. "Female orgasm is not required for conception."

Kathryn blinked for several long seconds, stunned by the non-sequitur. She'd forgotten how Seven's unique frankness usually included at least one or two intense moments of fleeting and painful awkwardness. Janeway was merely out of practice in handling them, making this initial episode extremely undignified to her. _Or perhaps a celibate has no right to talk, _Kathryn thought.

She forced a smile in any event. "How is Chakotay?" she asked before taking a long sip. She watched in fascinated interest as Seven's face rippled from consternation to anger and then to Borg imperturbability.

Before answering, Seven pushed herself up from the chair and sauntered to the replicator again. Janeway's faint smile was the only clue to the carnal interest in the Borg's posterior as it bounced away from her.

Seven ordered a green tea and returned to the sofa, stirring as she went. "Chakotay is irrelevant," she said in precise, clipped words.

Janeway sputtered to a cough, pounding her own chest at the unexpected answer. "He's what?" she asked with a great deal of difficulty.

"Are you damaged?" Seven asked, setting her tea cup down on the coffee table.

Janeway held up a hand, her face as red as her uniform. She coughed again. "Wrong pipe," she murmured between heaves.

Seven sat back and retrieved her cup.

When Janeway settled back, mumbling an apology, she gestured for Seven of Nine to continue.

"We terminated our marriage contract nearly a year ago," Seven said, as if she were reciting planetary data.

"I'm sorry," Janeway said softly.

Seven arched a brow at the faint insincerity. "I am not," she added. "Though I am pleased to have a pair of subunits. However, the process of conception was _laborious_ and the marriage was taxing without any corollary benefits."

Janeway nearly strangled on her suppressed laughter. "Procreative sex isn't supposed to be _work_, Seven. It's supposed to be enjoyable."

Seven's eyes darted to the older Admiral, followed by a slow twist of her face toward her. "Chakotay claimed I was frigid and that I am mechanical in my approach to copulation," she said, without the smallest hint of embarrassment.

"Ho, boy!" Kathryn said, moving forward to rise from her chair. "I think it's time to get to work."

Seven slipped a hand on her forearm, where it seared Kathryn with the memory of _wanting_. She stared down at it until Seven removed her hand. "We have not discussed your private life," Seven stated.

Kathryn quirked the corner of her mouth. "And we aren't going to," she said. To Seven's dubious look, Kathryn hastily added: "It's because there's nothing to talk about. I work. That's my life."

Kathryn was touched by Seven's obvious sorrow, though she thought it was misplaced. She was doing what she loved. _That's has to count for something, _she thought. "So let's get to work. The Breen aren't going to defeat themselves, now are they?"

Seven rewarded Kathryn with a faint smirk, a pleasing flash of the woman's humanity that Kathryn found immensely rewarding.

=/\=

Lt. Powers brought in dinner for the pair of Admirals, as they worked up strategies for various scenarios on the 3D text display. Seven firmly held the writing wand as she shook her head, objecting to something that Janeway was saying.

Seven switched to the tactical map display and wrote an "X" seemingly in the air, placing it on the far side of the "Badlands." The location was nearly midway between the Breen Confederacy and Federation space. "Make the stand here," she said.

Janeway rubbed her jaw. "That would leave the Badlands as a fallback position—"

"Should anything not go as planned," Seven added.

Janeway frowned, but was interrupted by her assistant.

"Beg your pardon, Admirals Janeway and Hansen," she said. "But dinner is ready."

Janeway looked surprised. "Dinner? Already?" She glanced at the holographic chronometer that hovered by her desk. The three-dimensional numbers of 1600 hours blinked red. "Oh, dear," she said. "I've got to call home." As she stepped past Powers, she patted her assistant's arm. "Go home, Lieutenant. We can manage."

"Thank you, Admiral," she said, before executing a precision, Starfleet turn on her heels.

Seven sat down at the desk, lifting the shimmering red napkin from her plate and laid it across her lap. She prepared her drink, even while she spared a part of her multi-tasking-Borg awareness to track the Admiral.

Kathryn was leaning on her elbows into the vid. "Hey Phoebs, sorry I'm calling so late…"

"_Geez louise, Katie! It's a good thing you don't have a fish or a dog!"_

Kathryn frowned. "Is that why Mom sent you? To harass me about everything?"

"_No, of course not. Just the important stuff like your lack of long-term companionship and the fact that you become more like Dad every day."_

"Anyway," Kathryn said, over her sister's droning. "As you can see, we're still working."

"_Married to Starfleet,"_ Phoebe sighed. _"At least Dad had a wife."_

"The last time I checked you weren't married either Phoebe Janeway."

"_No, not interested in the shackles of a contract, thankyouverymuch! But I get laid every three or four days—more if I need it."_

Kathryn screwed her eyes shut, before glancing at the back of Seven's head. She appeared to be busy with her dinner, but looks were deceiving. "I really have to go, Phoebe. Please lock up behind you when you leave and just take the damn key with you."

Phoebe puckered her lips in pouting. _"I get the feeling you're getting rid of me."_

"Oh, then I'm not doing it right," Kathryn said softly, almost apologetically. Then with a hard edge, she barked: "Get out! And don't come back until you can respect my lifestyle."

Phoebe threw her head back and laughed. The sound reverberated in the room and Kathryn quickly fumbled with the volume control.

"_Oh, Katie, Katie, Katie! You make it sound like you're a trendy dyke or a pricey Dabo girl when we both know the only action your little Gingerbread house has seen was four hundred fifty years ago when it was actually a brothel rather than the current nunnery."_

Kathryn inhaled deeply, her patience nearly spent. "Goodbye, Phoebe. I'm hanging up."

She shut off the video and closed it, hoping her sister didn't try to call back with more details of her boring life. She forced a smile as she rounded the corner of her desk.

"So, Seven, you really have to tell me about your name. I mean, I never would have pegged you to blend your Borg designation and your human name."

Seven picked up the pitcher of Aldebaran tea. "Would you care for some?"

"Please," she said, as she draped the napkin across her lap.

The cold purple tea filled the wine goblet with a hiss. The natural carbon dioxide in the tea leaves roiled as it escaped the artificially cold goblet. Seven set the heavy carafe down and began to serve some of the lettuce from the bowl. Janeway lifted her plate, accepting the blue and green leaves.

After Seven had served herself and drenched the leaves with wheat germ and dressing, she picked up a fork slowly and inhaled. "I had tried Chakotay's designation," she said. "But it did not feel adequate to identify me. I became his spouse…his other—lesser—half," she stated as she mixed the ingredients on the plate with a fork. "He was offended that opted to alter my name again."

"Are the children named for him?"

"Erik's surname is Chakotay," she said before taking a bite. "But I changed my own name to Hansen prior to Hawk's birth. Consequently, he is Hansen."

"Haakon Hansen…" Janeway tried out the name, while staring up. "Haakon Chakotay." She frowned at the latter combination. "You made a good choice."

"My former spouse does not agree and I am currently defending a legal suit against him to alter Hawk's name."

Janeway's eyebrows rose. "Is it that important to him? It's not like he has his own father's name."

Seven's fork stopped midway to her mouth as she contemplated the reply. "I believe it is more about subtraction," she said.

Janeway furrowed her brow. "How do you mean?"

"He would rather subtract the Hansen name. He'd prefer his son be Haakon-nothing, than Haakon Hansen."

"Ah," Janeway said. "Sounds silly to me."

"To me as well," she said.

Janeway took another bite. She could hear the soft ticks and hums of the building. Finally, she broke the silence: "I still don't understand why you didn't accept Annika in place of Seven."

Seven turned to capture Kathryn's gaze. "You should know this answer, more than anyone, Kathryn." Her voice was so soft and intimate that the words did not sting Admiral Janeway. "I have not been Annika since I was assimilated at six years of age. To abandon my Borg designation would have been to jettison the sum of humanity and everything I had experienced inside the Collective."

"Even if it was the Collective that stole you from your parents and them from you?"

"It is not a denial of the crimes against me, but an acceptance of what lay behind me. Without the total experience, I would not be me."

Janeway's eyes grew misty and she batted at them under the guise of a cough. She set her fork down and laid a hand gently on Seven's forearm. It was the warm arm of Seven's remaining humanity and she rubbed her thumb there. It was a move that comforted them both. "You make me so proud," Kathryn said with a quirk in her voice. "There are many victims out there—of the Cardassian War, the Crystalline Entity, any number of cruelties—all of them with legitimate grievances. Yet, what inner fortitude you must have to embrace the misfortune as an essential part of the forging process of who you are today. It's really magnificent to see, Seven. Thank you."

Seven reached over to cover Janeway's finely boned hand with her own Borg appendage. The chain-maile was an irritating barrier, but despite it, Janeway felt a connection to Seven stronger than she'd ever felt and it appeared to be remarkably mutual. Seven's eyes were like the brilliantly blue delphiniums of an Indiana summer and Janeway could be lost inside of them for the rest of her life.

Seven dipped her head close and at first, Kathryn thought she was going to be kissed. Her heart started to pound and then fear struck because she had not activated the opacity of her office windows.

But Seven was merely adjusting herself, Kathryn realized. She was both relieved and aggrieved, an odd combination that left her feeling dizzy. But the luster in Seven's voice relieved the vertigo because she focused everything on those glorious lips.

"Kathryn, I cannot adequately express to you—even now, after all these years—my gratitude for liberating me from the Borg Collective. You did for me what I could not do for myself—what I _would not_ do for myself."

Kathryn's expression softened and her head tipped. "I remember you weren't very happy with me," she whispered. Still their hands lay together, rubbing against each other's.

Seven shrugged, an expression so human that a surge of joy flooded Kathryn as she able to see for the first time just how the intervening years had strengthened the woman and allowed her to grow even more. "I did not fully comprehend myself then," Seven admitted. "Consequently, I made many choices that were…ill-fitting."

Kathryn dipped her eyes, searching out Seven's. It placed them very close, yet so far that Kathryn's heart ached. _Oh to fill my own void now could be so easy_, she thought. But she would never allow please herself at the expense of the woman sitting here. _Isn't that love after all_, she thought. Her expression was tender even as she remembered the advice of the old Admiral Janeway. _"Be open to her."_ _So I will_, she reminded herself.

"You seem to be flourishing, Seven. And I'd love to hear more about your boys."

The answer seemed to delight Seven immeasurably, which in turn pleased Kathryn. Seven glanced at the holo-chronometer. "It would be my pleasure, Kathryn. But I should return to my dorm. I want to call them before the time index reaches 1900."

Just like that, the spell was broken and Kathryn reluctantly released the retreating Borg's hands. She sat back and watched as Seven began to assemble the dishes. "I'll get those, Seven," she said.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "You will ask Lt. Powers to 'get them' after they have begun to collect mold cultures on the surfaces of the remaining biomatter. It will not take long."

Janeway chuckled as she stood up. "Then I'll help."

As they bused the table, Janeway's mind raced. She didn't want this day to end, no matter how long and how taxing the work. Being with Seven of Nine had been a simple pleasure. "Did you say you were staying in the Starfleet HQ dorms?"

Seven turned to study the ginger-haired Admiral after she'd ordered the replicator to recycle the remains of dinner. "The facility is adequate," she said. "I require only an ensuite in which to wash and a bed on which to regenerate. Everything else is irrelevant."

"Maybe so," Janeway said lightly. "But my townhouse would be infinitely more comfortable and I have plenty of room. You could use one for as long as you like."

"Roommates?" Seven said matching Janeway's blithe tone. "Would I not interfere with your day-to-day routines."

"No," she whispered, nearly inaudible. She was holding her breath waiting for Seven's reply.

Seven considered the matter further, in typical Borg fashion. It was all an internal analysis.

"Where are Erik and Hawk staying, anyway?" Janeway asked, groping for a clincher to seal the deal.

"They are currently residing in Arizona with their father. It did not seem logical to bring them to San Francisco given that my work schedule would be protracted due the Breen crisis."

"If you stayed with me, they could visit," Janeway offered haltingly, even as she tried to gauge Seven's response.

"You would not object to a rambunctious three-year-old and a curious toddler distributing the copious and malevolent microorganisms that inhabit their hands and mouths throughout your townhouse?"

Janeway waved off the biological threat. "Nah. I'm used to it. My sister visits me quite often," she said with a snort.

"If you are certain, then I accept your offer."

Janeway smiled broadly, feeling as if she'd won the ridiculously impossible lottery on Fereginar itself. "Terrific," she said. "Let me finish up here and we can collect your things."


	5. The Obvious

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**  
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**Equal Opportunity  
><strong>Chapter Five: The Obvious

Kathryn Janeway cursed the light drizzle as they stepped onto the Archer Rail Station at Starfleet Headquarters on their way to her home. It wasn't usual San Francisco weather was annoyed her or that some of her red hair was sticking to her cheek now. Overall between the water-repellent fabric of her Starfleet uniform and raincoat, Janeway was quite dry.

What bothered her was that she wasn't exactly sure how Admiral Seven Hansen would interpret this little spate of inclement weather. _Hell, I don't even know if she even hates it for that matter! _she thought morosely. _It's not like it ever rained on Voyager. _

As a former Borg drone driven to perfection, Seven may not like the disorder wrought by unpredictable weather. Kathryn wanted this to be perfect, which was ridiculous. They were just friends, unfortunately. Kathryn was sure Seven had no idea that the older woman carried her around like an idol enshrined in the niche of her heart.

Kathryn rolled her eyes at the rather melodramatic description of what she felt the woman. It wasn't sensational, but rather a quiet love that had merely crept up to root itself in her very core. It didn't matter that Seven had found another. _And jettisoned him, fortunately_, she thought.

_Now all I have to do is tell her how I feel._ She sighed heavily.

Kathryn chanced a glance at Seven. Her face was lifted, as tiny drops flew in under the umbrella she held for them. Her human hand was lifted palm up, also catching drops.

Kathryn's gaze softened at the sight. "Seven," she said. "Surely they have rain in Arizona."

Seven regarded her former Captain with a lift of a brow. "Torrential," she said. Then the Borg dropped the umbrella, allowing the light drizzle to suffuse them both. "This is sprinkle," she stated with exact enunciation. "It is most pleasant."

Kathryn couldn't keep her lips from parting if she tried. "It is, isn't it?"

As the pair stepped onto the lightrail platform, lights were triggered and they were bathed in diodic light. Kathryn had never felt the urge to fill the air with chatter, and was grateful to be with Seven who considered small talk to be a useless and painful endeavor.

_You know why you're anxious, Katie. If this little ride is a pleasant experience for her, then perhaps Seven's temporary stay could be upgraded to permanent._ Kathryn grimaced as she stared at the ribbon of silver rail. _Why would an attractive woman—young and straight, I might add—want to stay with an old bird like me? _

Kathryn felt the tickle of being watched and looked up to find Seven's delphinium blue eyes intense and her head tipped, watching the older Admiral. Kathryn's mind raced to consider whether a silly emotion may have played across her face in the unguarded moment. But when Seven's full lips tugged into a faint but warm smile, Kathryn couldn't help but feel herself rumble beneath, a hot volcano ready to gush. She swallowed hard but it didn't stop her heart's unruly tremors in her chest at the sight of the tall blonde's keen interest. _Affection,_ Kathryn told herself. _That's all it is._

"It's only a short little jaunt now," Kathryn heard herself say. "I'm really sorry I don't have a transporter padd in the house."

"That is unusual," Seven said, letting her eyes roam over Kathryn's face. "Even Chakotay's ranch had two—one primary and one back up." Then Seven looked up and far away. "He was always apprehensive that he would not be able to make a mission."

Kathryn shrugged. "In the rush to get back to work, I was delirious enough to allow my mother and a rather desperate realtor to convince me to invest in a _historic_ brownstone. I'm not sure I know what I was thinking."

"Work—you were thinking of work," Seven said decisively. To Kathryn's questioningly look, she added: "On Voyager, there was a saying…"

Kathryn quirked a brow. "Yes?"

Seven was oblivious to the challenge in her former Captain's voice. "As the Captain so the ship."

Kathryn continued to watch Seven expectantly.

Seven did a double take of a glance. "I interpret that to mean…"

"I know what it means, Seven and it's not original to me."

"Oh? How about the other aphorism…Stand between the Captain and her coffee pot at your own peril."

"You're making that up."

Seven slipped her hands behind her back, as she regarded the railcar. "I am," she said.

Janeway shook her head slightly, amusement sparkling her eyes. "This is our train."

=/\=

Seven looked back to watch Kathryn tugged the personal anti-grav conveyer behind them into the railcar, the only two on the railcar. Seven followed Janeway in, as she tied the conveyer to a post and grabbed one of the handles just before the railcar computer announced that they were departing the station.

The station lights winked inside the car as it started to skim over the rails out toward the San Francisco Bay. The rhythmic clanking grew faster even as its speed picked up. Usually, Janeway always enjoyed the site of the Golden Gate Bridge and the toss of the bay waves below. But tonight there was a greater natural wonder just a few breaths away. Janeway closed her eyes, her awareness focused on the pounding of her own heart, even as she felt the close warmth of the woman standing behind her.

Kathryn finally opened her eyes and turned slightly. It put them face to face, barely a hand breath apart. Though she'd felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up with the belief that Seven was closely watching her; in fact, the Borg was studying her surroundings with exacting details. No doubt she's catalogued the rare graffiti that marked one of the windows.

"You like this ride?" Kathryn asked lightly.

"It is…"

Kathryn almost see the Seven's beautiful mind cycling through an entire compendium of adjectives to find the precise term.

"It is _sensual_," she finally said.

Kathryn's eyes jerked up. That was not the answer she expected. Of course, Seven never did anything that was expected of her. That had been part of her allure and her frustration. "How do you mean?"

"The grinding sounds of metal wheels on metal rails…the faint smell of perfume and…" Seven sniffed lightly over her shoulder. "Of human perspiration. The feel of supple leather." Seven's eyes flicked up and she lightly yanked the straps that she used to steady herself. "It is a refreshing feast of the senses."

Kathryn's lips formed a soundless "ah" before she spoke. "It's much more engaging than an ordinary transporter."

"Very much so," she said. "I am enjoying it."

Kathryn's teeth peeked through her lips as they tugged up. "I never thought of it that way but you're right."

The train jumped slightly, jostling the pair who wobbled and rubbed against each other until they caught their balance again. "I also enjoy the feel of…another human against me," Seven said casually, even as she avoided Janeway's gaze.

Janeway tipped her head, searching Seven's eyes for more of a clue to the mysterious comment. _I know she wasn't going to say human_, Janeway thought.

Seven did a double take as she suddenly found Admiral Janeway watching her. "Have I misspoken?" she inquired with an arch of a brow.

"Not at all," Janeway whispered, her voice suddenly husky. "Not if that's how you really feel."

Seven flagrantly returned Janeway's scrutiny. For the second time tonight, Janeway had the impression that Seven wanted to kiss her.

"It is how I have always felt," Seven replied evenly.

Janeway thought her gaze seemed vaguely defiant, but they were engaged in a casual conversation. _Unless she's saying something more_, Janeway thought. Before she could ask, a syrupy female voice announced their stop and the light rail began to decelerate. Seven dipped her head to look out of the window. Her eyes would follow a building sign or a road sign before searching out a new one.

Janeway was disappointed that her impressions—usually so accurate—were proving flawed. But it was overshadowed by the pure pleasure of watching Seven take in her surroundings.

They stepped off the train. The air was rich with smells of seafood cooking over an open pit. The station was perched on the edge of Fisherman's Wharf and the pair found themselves one of thousands of pedestrians.

While pairs and large groups poured around them on the sidewalk, Seven Hansen stopped, looking around her. First she glanced at the small boats moored below them in the pier. She touched the wooden railing, as if it were a sacred relic. Then Seven inhaled strongly, bringing an amusing play of light across Janeway's face.

"What is that scent?" Seven asked.

"Fish fry and wet concrete," Janeway said, lifting a boot to look down. "There is nothing like the smell of Fisherman's Wharf after a nice shower."

"It is dissimilar to the aroma of the desert after a shower," Seven mused. "But neither are unpleasant."

Janeway exaggerated her inhalation and pounded a chest. "I love it, too."

Seven looked back at the anti-gravity platform Janeway was tugging along. "May I take my bags from you now?"

Janeway pulled the lead away from her, possessively clutching it to her chest. "No, you may not. You are my guest and it is my prerogative to carry them."

Seven frowned.

Janeway lifted a finger and gave her own unhappy look, one that Seven of Nine had been well-acquainted with while she served on Voyager. "I'm happy—and frankly stunned—you aren't arguing with me," she said with a playful lilt.

Seven took her hands behind her back as they strolled down the block, just past Ghiradelli Square. "I have argued enough for a lifetime," she said.

Janeway's face sobered. "Chakotay?" she whispered.

Seven nodded. "Yes, I have found marriage to be tiresome duel."

"I'm sorry, Seven," Janeway said softly.

"Do not be," she said, pivoting around and then peering down both directions of the bustling street. Finally Seven came to a stop in front of Kathryn, who snapped her mouth shut after a brief lag of admiring the twirling Borg. "Kathryn," she quietly.

Admiral Janeway felt like the charisma licking off the uniformed Borg was fogging with her ability to think. It was confirmed when Seven had to repeat her name.

She jerked up to catch an amused Borg. "What?" she asked softly.

"I am not acquainted with the coordinates to your dwelling. Perhaps you should proceed first."

Janeway playfully took Seven's hand in her own and drew her west along Jefferson Street. "This way," she said.

=/\=

They meandered among the crowd, stopping frequently at something the Borg found intriguing. Seven admired the street rails that remained built into the cobbled streets near the Wharf. Her eyes followed the twin ribbons as they disappeared ahead of them. She fell to her haunches, her Borg appendage tracing the steel rail with a finger.

Seven stood up and accessed the crowd and the wide berth needed. "Are these rails no longer in use?"

"No, it's been two hundred years since the last streetcars bustled on a San Francisco road. They became too old and too unsafe."

"Unfortunate," she said, looking up at the wires that crisscrossed the road. "These cables seem to correlate to the tracks."

Janeway's eyes traced after the focus of Seven's attention. She had always been hungry for knowledge, a fact she appreciated. "Yes, they are catenaries, overhead wires used to power the cable cars."

As they continued to meander along, they came to a brightly lit restaurant with flashing green signs. Seven cocked her head at the music resounding within. She read the sign. "Agna's Vault of Fish?"

Janeway crinkled her nose and shrugged. "The Wharf is one of the premier tourist attractions in the area."

A Nausicaan dressed with a shiny blue shirt that read Agna's Vault of Fish on it, dragged out an older and very inebriated human male. The man's thinning black hair whipped around his eyes as the Nausicaan bouncer tossed him out. His face nearly kissed the pavement. He stood up, straightened his brown suit and left.

"The Aldebaran whiskey is quite good there," Janeway replied, as if that explained the ejected man's raison d'etre.

Seven studied Janeway for what felt like the hundredth time. The older woman saw an expression she didn't recognize there. "What is it?"

"Do you consume volatile fermented carbohydrates often?"

Seven's gaze was like a vise and Janeway could neither look away. "I used to," she said quietly. As if to distract the incisive Borg, Janeway tugged Seven's hand across the crowded street. "They make a fantastic dessert…fried beer."

Seven curled her lips. "I do not care for alcohol."

"C'mon," she said, tying the platform to a row of others just outside the door. She handed a credit to a young Ferengi male. "Make sure no one takes this."

He glanced down at the single credit. "I wouldn't guard my mother for this."

She stuffed a hand into her trouser pockets to hoist out two more. "Here. But nothing better be gone." Her command voice sent a shiver down the lad's back and he nodded, his sharp teeth bared in a grotesque smile.

The restaurant was noisy. Between the band playing loud music and the diners, she could hardly hear herself breath. But Janeway didn't want this evening to end. She picked her way through the restaurant to the farthest table from the stage, hidden beside a wainscoted wall that had been painted over at least twice and badly needed another coat.

As their waiter descended on them, Janeway ordered a basket of fried beer and two beer cocktails. Janeway unzipped her tunic, feeling overheated. She wasn't sure if it was from the smoke inside the restaurant or inside her heart.

Janeway laughed loudly when she finally saw Seven. She was seated at the edge of the seat. Her back was ramrod straight. Kathryn leaned over and rubbed Seven's hand gently. "Seven," she said. "Relax."

Seven allowed her back to touch the back of the wooden chair. "Chakotay did not like for me to visit such places."

Janeway snorted. "Well, he's not here is he?"

The tension from her face drained more. "No, he is not."

The basket was red with ornate grillwork on the side. The paper inside was nearly transparent, except for Agna's logo and the still sizzling beer puffs inside. Janeway peered in, finding the fattest one there. She took it, blew on it and stuffed into her mouth. "Hmmm," she said, closing her eyes briefly. "Decadent."

She watched as Seven followed suit. She carefully picked out the next fattest nugget, blew on it and slowly put it into her mouth. A dim smile appeared. Her eyes flicked up to find Kathryn's even as she chewed slowly.

"Well?"

"It is calorically dense," she said.

Janeway laughed. "Seven! I want to know if it tastes good."

"The outside is breadlike and the inside is…" She reached for another piece, chewing as Janeway saw her thoughts swirl around trying to describe the culinary anomaly. "Is liquid. Beer, precisely whose alcoholic content is not more than five percent."

Janeway gave her a crooked smile. "Well, I had avoided reading the contents, but it sounds like I didn't have to—other than the high calorie part."

"I like it," Seven declared as she bit into another piece. It was a mistake because the beer sluiced out of the half-eaten piece and down her chin.

Kathryn watched it drip down and had to suppress the urge to lick it up. She was intently watching Seven's finger scoop up the excess moisture and draw it into her mouth. _Oh, baby_, Kathryn thought.

"Kathryn?" Seven said.

Kathryn felt her face burn and she covered her yelp with a cough. "Sorry," she said, taking the moment to look away and force a cough or two until the blush subsided.

"Did I do something incorrectly?" Seven asked, pushing the basket away for good measure.

Kathryn pushed it back. "No, not at all. Why would you think that?"

"You were inspecting me rather closely."

Kathryn dropped her napkin to her lap. "I'm sorry, Seven," she said. "I was just enjoying your enjoyment. I didn't mean to offend or make you feel self-conscious."

"Then I am sorry, as well," she said, her blue eyes turning to the dough balls remaining in the basket. "Chakotay discouraged this sort of indulging."

Kathryn's brow furrowed deeply. "But why? It's obvious you enjoy trying new things and perfectly understandable, given your history."

"He believed my body mass would increase," she said.

"He thought you'd get fat?" she asked too loudly. Kathryn gazed around awkwardly and then back at Seven. "That's absurd!"

"He did not believe so," she said. "On the anniversary of our wedding, I was required to wear my wedding dress."

Kathryn's face darkened. "Why?"

"To ensure that I had not gained substantial body mass."

"Every year?"

"Indeed."

Kathryn took a long drag of her beer and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt. She couldn't think of any other way to avoid calling her former First Officer an asshole. "That's ridiculous," she hissed.

"At the time, I thought it was a customary ritual among wedded couples."

Kathryn motioned for another beer. "Want another?"

"I haven't finished the first," she said.

"Make that two," Kathryn said imperiously to the waiter, who nodded and then disappeared behind two filthy swing doors.

With a little bit of a buzz, Kathryn felt bolder than she had in ages. "Well, I think you are absolutely gorgeous just the way you are."

"Ahh, I was not aware that you had taken stock of my attributes," Seven replied without flinching away from Kathryn's bold stare.

Usually the paragon of diplomacy, Kathryn's mutinous eyes roamed to Seven's largest endowments. "Oh, I'd have to be either blind or a damn fool not to notice you, Seven."

The waiter plunked down two icy mugs of beer that sloshed over the rims a bit. After Kathryn had settled the account with him, she was gratified to see that Seven was enjoying the beer bits. "I knew you'd like them," she said.

=/\=

Kathryn hiccupped when she reached for the anti grav platform on which Seven's luggage was stowed.

"Perhaps I should take those," Seven said.

Kathryn intercepted Seven's hand, as it reached for the handle. Without thinking their hands twined. "Uh uh uh, Seven Hansen," she said. "You're still my guest."

"But you are inebriated."

"I most certainly am not!" Kathryn said indignantly. "I'll let you know if I ever am, though. Now let's go."

=/\=

"I live in one of these houses," Janeway said to the row of quaint Victorian homes that lined a street. Seven snapped her head to study brilliantly covered houses as they appeared to totter.

Janeway nearly smiled as she could imagine Seven's calculations on the slope of the land and the foundation of the houses.

Janeway knew even as she pondered her next distraction that Seven had already calculated that the houses were level and that it was that sloped.

"These units suit you," Seven said after a moment.

"I wished I had found one that was self-cleaning and provided meals on command," she admitted.

Kathryn watched as Seven continued to catalog every shade of bright green and pink of the houses and every tree. "I hope this little walk hasn't been too much of a burden," she said.

"No," Seven said, her eyes moved to the cracked sidewalk under her Star Fleet issue boots. "It find that I enjoy the flaws of construction."

"The flaws?" Janeway laughed.

"These fissures in the artificial stone-like path are beautiful in their complexity and…"

"Seven," Janeway chided playfully. "I'm really going to have to get you out more often."

Before Seven could respond, Janeway gestured with a hand. "This is it, my gingerbread house."

Seven's eyes etched the swirls of the delicate scroll work that decorated the corners of the small porch that sat to one side. The house rose three stories pink clapboards and wooden lace, reminiscent of the 19th century. The large bay window by the porch was decorated with sprawling shrubs.

Janeway reached for her brass key, smiling apologetically as she lifted it out of her briefcase. "Old fashioned," she murmured with a shrug and a hiccup. She leaned over to put the key in the doorknob, but missed the target. Again, her aim was off and she nearly fell over.

That's when she felt Seven come up behind her. The woman took the bottom of her hand, pressing the length of her arm against Janeway's to steady the shaking key.

Janeway coughed a groan when she felt the large breasts press into her back and the thighs into her backside. She felt the gentle tickle of Seven's breathe against her neck and shivered.

"Has your metabolic temperature dropped?"

The scientific words were murmured against her ear in a soft voice. Seven's breath tickled Kathryn's neck and she moaned out loud, her ability to quash her reaction to the woman becoming impossible. She wanted Seven. _God! How I want you!_

On the heels of that last thought, the door to her house opened and her sister filled the doorway. "Kath—?" Phoebe's dark brown eyes seemed to snap like a camera at the image before her. First, to Kathryn's face and then the full, luscious lips so close to her sister's neck. Then to the proximity of their bodies and finally to Janeway's hand in Seven's.

Janeway tumbled, ripping her from the closeness she longed for. "Phoebe! What the hell are you doing here?"

Phoebe put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at her older sister. "Whaddaya mean? I came to see you, remember?"

Janeway slipped her hair behind an ear. "You were supposed to be gone by now."

Phoebe finally smiled in that knowing way that always infuriated her sister. "Well, I'm not and good thing, too."

=/\=

Earlier that evening, Phoebe Janeway closed the vid after her sister Admiral Kathryn Janeway had made it clear she should leave. She stood up and looked around her. She'd put up some photos of watercolor beach scenes she'd snapped up at a flea market. That did wonders to liven up the dreariness of Katie's desolation of a house.

She walked into the leaving room. The streetlight was streaming into the bay window, spilling all over the dried remains of her sister's house plants. "Plants," she whispered to herself. Then she pivoted to the mantel over the fireplace. It was empty white space and it was mocking the artist in Phoebe. "But what can I put there." So far, nothing had provided inspiration.

Later, after replanting new ivy into the living room hanging pots and she heard a little murmuring at the front door, dismissing it as a loud passerbys. Then she heard more voices.

She could see her sister through the peephole of the door, looking as if she were having a masturbatory dream. Her eyes were hooded and her mouth was slightly parted.

"What the hell…?" she whispered as she pulled the door open. Phoebe was expecting to see a dog tired Kathryn or even a crabby Kathryn.

But her eyes were greeted with a scene that even made her pant from lust. Pressed against her sister's body was the most beautiful blonde she'd ever seen. And the woman looked hungry, like she was ready to rip the clothes right off her sister.

"Kath—?"

Katie nearly fell forward, clearly her older sib was a little high. "Phoebe! What the hell are you doing here?"

Phoebe could hardly keep the smirk off her face as she put her hands on her hips. _Isn't this an interesting predicament?_ she thought. "Whaddaya mean? I came to see you, remember?"

Janeway glanced nervously at Seven before toying with her hair, a nervous habit that she couldn't quite get rid, where her family was concerned. "You were supposed to be gone by now."

Phoebe realized that she'd lucked out. She was going to get a peek at Katie's private life and, judging by the buxom blonde beside her, what a peek it would be!

"Well, I'm not and good thing, too." She gestured for the two to come in. "Hi, I'm Phoebe Janeway and you are…?"

Seven shook Phoebe's hand. "Seven Hansen," she said, shaking her hand perfunctorily. "I was not aware you were Captain—Admiral Janeway's roommate."

"Oh heavens!" Phoebe said as she watched Seven slip past her. "I'd rather…"

Kathryn growled very low when she passed her sister, but Phoebe tossed her head and left her standing at the open door to bring in the bags.

Seven was standing in the middle of the room, taking in the sparsely furnished living room.

"Seven Hansen?" Phoebe said, trying to jog her memory. "Would you be Seven of Nine from the Great U.S.S. Voyager?"

Seven pivoted to meet the younger woman, who did not even look remotely related to Kathryn. She had straight dark hair to her shoulders and cut bluntly at the ends. Her eyes were nearly as dark as Chakotay's but not as controlling somehow. "Yes, I am Seven of Nine."

Phoebe covered her mouth and screamed, making Seven's eyes flare for a moment. Phoebe laughed out loud as she grabbed Seven's arm. "I'm sorry, Seven. It's just that, wow! I never thought I'd meet you."

"Do we know each other? Or…" Seven tipped toward Kathryn as she lugged the last of the suitcases in. "Has the Admiral spoken of me?"

"No!" Janeway said defensively, while her sister said the word casually.

"Actually," Phoebe said after asking Seven she was interested in a drink. "I've read all the books about the crew…"

Kathryn groaned as she breezed past her sister. "I need a drink," she murmured. She slipped behind a swing door into the kitchen.

The pair in the living room heard the sound of rushing water.

"Are there many books?" Seven asked as she sat down stiffly on the sofa facing the bay window.

Phoebe fell into the sofa chair beside her. "There's like hundreds," she said. "It's a fantastic story, really."

"Perhaps to one who had not lived it," Seven said.

Phoebe ignored the comment. "I especially liked the book written by Etska Elay…um, _'Star Fleet Conquest and Sex in the Delta Quadrant: The Unauthorized Account of the U.S.S. Voyager Crew.'_"

Janeway had just stepped into the living room with two glasses of water. "Oh, Phoebe for the love of Pete! Don't bother Seven with that poison."

Phoebe ignored her sister, whom she expected to sound like a dreary fog horn in London. Instead she sat up when she saw Seven Hansen visibly lighten when Katie returned to the living room.

Phoebe leaned forward, putting her hand to chin as she intently watched how Seven looked positively transfigured when her sister handed her a glass of water. She felt the spark when their eyes met, forcing her to sit back. It was like Katie and Seven were in their own little world for a brief moment.

Katie sat beside Seven and smiled encouragingly.

Phoebe could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock and if she listened hard enough, she had no doubt that there were two hearts racing faster than a thoroughbred in Kentucky. "Do you know what Etska wrote?" Phoebe finally asked when the pair had stared at each other long enough.

"Who?" Katie asked, rubbing her temple.

"The author of _'Starfleet Conquest and Sex—'_"

Katie frowned. "Bullshit," she whispered.

"Etska's research was meticulous and one of the most interesting developments was what she wrote about the Borg-turned-Human, one Seven of Nine."

Seven tore her gaze from Kathryn at last, her attention piqued.

"Seven Hansen had a thing for the Captain…" Phoebe nodded and winked at Seven's dismayed look. "And that the Captain—"

"That's enough," Katie said, jumping up from her perch. "I think it's time for you to go."

Phoebe wasn't expecting this. "But it's 23 hundred…"

"Yes, and ample time for you to get a hotel." Katie shoved Phoebe's purse into her chest. "Now."

"But…"

Katie swallowed her lips and then took her sister by the hand, dragging her to the front door. "Say good bye, Phoebe."

"Good bye, Phoebe," she said to an equally astonished Star Fleet Borg, whose eyes were round and large. "We'll talk later, Seven."

Katie opened the front door, shoved her sister through and closed it behind her after telling Seven she'd be right back. "What the hell are you doing, Phoebs?"

Phoebe searched her sister's familiar features. They were hard and absolute, as they usually were. No, today Katie was unsure and it was nice to see that her older sister could be reduced to a puddle of quivering lust. Suddenly an image came to Phoebe and she knew exactly what Katie needed over her mantle.

"I'm going home," Phoebe said, gathering her purse.

Katie inhaled deeply, letting an arm gesture for her to leave. "We finally agree."

Phoebe kissed Katie's cheek, smiling at the alcohol she smelled there. "Have you ever had sex with a woman?"

Katie pulled back, horror etched on her face. "You can't ask me that?"

"Why not? We're sisters."

"Sisters don't divulge details like that!"

"Yeah, they do! The reality is…" Phoebe poked a finger into her sister's chest. "You don't divulge details like that. God forbid that someone might think you actually have needs!"

"Go home," Katie hissed.

Phoebe gave her knowing smile. "I think I will."

=/\=

Several weeks later, sitting at her desk, Admiral Janeway heard the chime of an incoming text message. She called it up on her padd. She saw that Phoebe was the sender and she groaned. "She's needs a project," she muttered as she opened it.

"_My dearest Katie,_

_Sorry I had to leave so abruptly last night."_

Janeway snorted at that.

"_Please tell Seven I'm sorry we couldn't talk more. But I promise we'll talk again."_

"Not if I can help it," she murmured, as her thumb scrolled down further.

"_In the meantime, I am sending you a little gift. It's my inspiration after your little display last night."_

"Display? What display?" Janeway asked with growing alarm.

"_Use it in good health. Love, Your Favorite Sister."_

"My only sister," Janeway clarified to no one. The message had an attachment. It was a book. "Dear God," she hissed when she read the title. It was an electronic copy of _"Water Garden of Pleasure: Lesbian Sex, Love and Lust." _

She couldn't help but open the book. "I should at least read the first page," she reasoned. The first thing that came up was a disclaimer: "This book is designed for holoprojectors but can be read on two dimensional reading devices." She skimmed through the other disclaimers being rewarded with a vivid picture of two twined curvaceous bodies.

Kathryn tipped the padd on its side and pulled back to let her eyes adjust. "Oh, my," she whispered.

She didn't hear the soft boots that slipped into her office.

"Admiral" came the controlled and familiar voice.

Janeway fumbled with the padd, dropping it in full view before jumping up to flip it around. "Admiral Hansen," she said hoarsely. "I'm just reading…"

Seven stared at the padd and then a pointed eyebrow greeted Janeway, who responded nervously.

"It was my sister—I mean, a joke from my sister. She's quite provocative—as an artist, that is."

Janeway slipped the padd under her arm. "What do you have?" she finally asked, after gathering what was left of her dignity.

Seven offered the older woman a padd with the schematics of the new weapons system to fight the Breen. Janeway looked over it. "Looks like it meets our specifications," she said.

"I believe it does. They will begin work on the prototype on Monday."

"Excellent," she said, finally looking up.

"I would like to retrieve my subunits tomorrow for a visit. Would you like to go with me?"

"Well, since we are waiting on R&D to build the prototype, we certainly have time." Janeway smiled. "I'd be happy to go with you."

Seven nodded once and turned on her heels.

Janeway breathed a sigh of relief. "That was close."


	6. Ricochet of Logic

A/N: Sorry this took so long. Life is hectic. Thank you for all the reviews and for those who encouraged me to finish. It was appreciated. I think this is the next to the last chapter of what should have been a one-shot. Ha, ha. In any case: enjoy.

**Equal Opportunity  
>Chapter 6: Ricochet of Logic<strong>

The aroma of brewing coffee clung in the air as Kathryn bounced into the kitchen. The spring of her step lost its energy when she found herself there alone. It wasn't the coffee she wanted. _It's _her_ dammit_, she thought.

They'd been roommates for about four weeks now. Kathryn seriously thought that flame of lust could be smothered. But it was like she'd thrown gasoline on it. Mostly it just burned low, a flickering blue flame in the pit of her soul filling her lower parts with warm moisture—unless Seven was in the room. Then it raged like a wild fire on dry brush. It was sweet, sweet torture.

Kathryn slowly blew out some air, trying to find her Captain's detachment that had served her so well on Voyager. _I can do this today_, she thought. _I can spend all day with Seven of Nine Hansen without wanting to touch her, without wanting to kiss her. I can be happy with her vague smiles and her warm presence. Yes, I can do this._

Seven of Nine—that was the next thought. Instead of berating herself, Kathryn luxuriated in the thoughts of the tall, blonde Borg. She was a surprising roommate, thoughtful and kind.

Nightly, Seven would linger by the top of the stairs near her bedroom, until Kathryn had shut down all the lights of the house. She watched Kathryn with a peculiar expression that Kathryn had never quite identified. But there was no mistake it was one the Borg had never offered to anyone else. Not even Chakotay. Thoughts of Seven's ex-husband usually invaded some part of Kathryn's awareness during those episodes. And Kathryn would cave in to the realization that Seven was a confirmed heterosexual. "You don't have to wait there for me, Seven," Kathryn had said the first night. _It makes me want you_—a thought she carefully bridled.

"I am not waiting, Kathryn," Seven had announced. "To wait denotes a futile pause."

Kathryn remembered tipping her head to study the beautiful Borg. Seven was standing in silk pajamas so sheer that Kathryn saw the unmistakable winks of the woman's apricot nipples. A lusty wheeze followed by a graceless cough forced her eyes closed against her will.

"Kathryn?"

Kathryn raised a hand. "I'm all right," she said through another cough. "You're pajamas just…"

Seven looked down at her attire.

"Your pajamas are quite revealing," Kathryn pointed out, stabbing a leg with her fingernail the rising flame in check.

Kathryn had been absolutely certain about Seven's response. From the simple lift of a confident chin to the blaze in the otherwise typically indifferent Borg eyes, Kathryn had thought she had all but the exact wording of the response.

"Should I remove them?"

Kathryn's eyes widened slightly as she saw Seven begin to unbutton her top. "What do you think you're doing, Seven?" Kathryn had been even more unprepared for the husky burr in her own voice.

Seven hands surrendered to the command voice. Kathryn had gotten the distinct impression that Seven was disappointed. Seven of Nine, who made an art form out of traumatizing her audience, remained silent for a moment but searched Kathryn's face for a long moment. Instead, she merely wished Kathryn a good night. The soft sound of Seven's bedroom door closing jarred Kathryn to the emptiness of her existence.

_Like the desolation of the empty kitchen now_, she thought, searching the expanse of white, Rigellian tile. Kathryn swept the kitchen for clues to the Borg's whereabouts.

"Seven?" Kathryn called out.

"Kathryn, I am here" came her muffled reply through the back door.

Kathryn stepped through, closing her eyes at the pleasure of the soft breeze carrying the lovely tang of the sea. "'Morning," she said to the crouched figure at her feet.

The backyard was merely two meters wide, enclosed on all sides by a wood-like fence and encased with the red bricks of other buildings, nearly shading it completely.

"You don't look happy," Kathryn said to her roommate.

Seven was hand-deep in rich, furrowed soil that took up half of their backyard. She stood up, brushing her forehead with the back of a dirty hand.

Kathryn was barely able to resist the urge to rub away the smudge of earth on the lovely, dimpled chin. Instead she asked: "How's the garden?"

"I am fearful," she said, still frowning at the four furrows that made up their garden.

"Of what?" Kathryn asked, looking down. She'd grown up as a traditionalist, but had been quite proud and stealthy to avoid the _filthy_ work of a traditionalist.

"The _solanum lycopersicum_ do not seem amenable to this habitat," she said. Seven looked up, casting an incendiary glare at the tall houses that stole their sunlight.

Kathryn crinkled her nose. "Now that you mention it, shouldn't the tomato plants have sprouted by now?"

Seven swiveled her head to frown at the suggestion and then slowly, her eyes caught sight of Admiral Janeway _sans_ uniform. Kathryn was wearing a white collared blouse unbuttoned dangerously low to her cleavage. The white slacks hugged the curves of her figure down to her sandaled feet.

Kathryn became suddenly self-conscious under Seven's incisive scrutiny. She glanced down, submitting to a complete review by lifting her arms akimbo. "Is this acceptable attire for our visit to Arizona?"

"You look…" Seven resumed a slow perusal of Kathryn's form. When she met the older woman's gaze, she added: "Like perfection. I had grown accustomed to you in your uniform."

"Thank you," Kathryn said, cursing the throaty reply as a sign of lust. "I'm pleased you're pleased."

Seven returned her incisive gaze back to the fruitless garden of dirt. "The state of this garden is unacceptable." As if they were still on Voyager and they were still in a captain-crew relationship, Seven handed Kathryn a padd that lay on top of the nearby patio table. "I plan to install fluorescent lights to stimulate growth and, consequently, photosynthesis."

Janeway casually perused the detailed information on the padd. When she'd finished, she looked up to find Seven's arched brow waiting for a response. Janeway nodded slowly looking around at the small plot. With the garden, there was barely room for two chairs and a small table. "Wouldn't it be easier to just _buy_ some tomatoes at the little market…?"

Seven's expression of dim disgust made Janeway garble the remainder of her comment. "If we can beat the Hirogen," Janeway finally said cheerily, "then, by God, we can defeat garden blight!"

Janeway's crooked smile softened Seven's expression. "Perhaps if we purchased tomato vines rather than plant seeds…" Seven mused, toeing a chunk of dirt that had yet to yield any stalks whatsoever.

Janeway slipped an arm around Seven's waist, pulling her close. She smiled broader when she felt Seven follow suit. "Oh, Seven," she said lightly. "Fresh tomatoes are nice, but they aren't the only thing."

"You are not disappointed that our efforts have been unproductive?" Seven asked, peering down at the woman intently.

"Naw," she said with the toss of her head. "We had fun, didn't we?"

Seven considered that the pair had vehemently and loudly debated the merits of seeds versus seedlings at the garden nursery for quite some time. Other customers fearing that the fiery deliberation would escalate to fisticuffs had called the store's management.

"We are just passionate about our opinions," Janeway had told the alarmed manager. "And good friends," she had cooed to the manager, laying a familiar hand on his arm. "It's quite all right."

Seven's glare had forced her to remove the hand prematurely.

Seven seemed to be sharing the same memory with a faraway look before favoring Kathryn wistfully when she sighed. "I do not believe we will be able to collect our garden supplies at the _Fertile Goddess_ any longer," she added seriously.

"I think you're right," she said, frowning at the memory of Starfleet patrol officers being called out. "I don't think they really believed that we could disagree so zealously about seeds."

"It is because they did not attend staff meetings on Voyager," Seven said with a hint of a smile on her full lips.

Kathryn pulled back to favor her friend with a sardonic look. "Did you ever regret our conflicts on Voyager?"

"No," she said, relinquishing the shorter woman. "I did not perceive them as conflicts."

Janeway placed a hand on her hip. "So how did you perceive our 'discussions'?"

Seven bent down to straighten the garden sign that read "S. Lycopersicum" in neat, block letters. When she looked up, Seven schooled her features to the utmost seriousness. "As opportunities to assimilate my knowledge."

Kathryn couldn't contain the breathy laugh. "Of course!" Kathryn replied, with the roll of her eyes.

Seven wiped her hands as she stood, careful to avoid rubbing them on her pants. She watched Kathryn's recognizable Captain's mode. The shake of her head as she spoke, the lilt of the lovely brows and the smirk on her kissable lips. Seven eyed the upturned corners of her mouth for a moment before taking the strong chin between a dirty finger and thumb.

Kathryn was startled and Seven wondered how alarmed she'd be if she knew what she really wanted to do. "It is not conceit," she declared. "I take every opportunity to assimilate you, Kathryn."

Seven's eyes slipped down to watch her thumb lightly caress Kathryn's plump bottom lip. "Until I have it all."

Just as quickly as she'd taken hold of Kathryn, Seven withdrew, spinning quickly on her heels to return to the kitchen.

The touch was too fleeting and before Kathryn could respond, Seven had withdrawn, spinning on her heels to march across the back porch and into the kitchen, abruptly terminating what Kathryn was sure was an important discussion. Kathryn had long grown accustomed to her terse interpersonal style but this was different.

She slipped in, resting her hip on the counter as Seven finished washing her hands at the sink. Like everything she did, Seven was focused intently on washing with the same attentiveness she would have given to aligning a power relay.

But Kathryn decided to downplay this strange turn. She carefully laid the padd by the sink. "I'm sure the tomatoes will work out," she said lightly.

Seven took the towels and carefully searched Kathryn's face. Kathryn got the feeling she was waiting for something—whether it was for Kathryn to speak or do, she didn't know. Nor did the Borg give any hint. But instead of saying anything, Seven reached up to rub Kathryn's cheek.

Seven's interest held Kathryn motionless, but the older woman stared helplessly at the parted lips looming so close.

Before she experienced her own personal warp core breach, Kathryn ejected the only thing she could think of, an absurdly mundane question. "When will we be heading to the train station?"

Seven neatly folded the hand towel and hung it from a silver handle. "The time index is now," she said. "I shall gather my accessories."

Kathryn watched Seven leave and got the distinct impression that the Borg meant to say something more. _Dammit!_ Kathryn cursed. _Why can't I just tell her what I feel? _Kathryn sniffed at her own reply. _Because she's straight and you don't even know what you are!_

=/\=

Seven had insisted they take the train, to Janeway's delight. As the black antique train whistled south and east, the sun puddled red and orange along the horizon as it set behind some rolling purple mountains. The trees became stunted as the train touched the edges of the Sonoran desert. The brush-covered mountains seemed to surround them in every direction, with a haunting beauty of its own.

"It's lovely here," Janeway murmured as they bumped along a dirt road in an antique taxi.

Seven lifted a brow, considering the picturesque landscape. "It is isolated," she said simply.

Janeway was surprised by her response. "Not many neighbors?"

"Chakotay's ranch is quite large," she replied. "The nearest human being to its proximity is 5 miles away. However, there is no shortage of Canis latrans…" To Kathryn's curious look, she added helpfully. "Coyotes."

Janeway let a corner of her mouth twitch. "You're developing quite the dry sense of humor."

"It is climate-appropriate," she said in deadpan.

Before Janeway could respond, the taxi came to a lurch in front of a sprawling, adobe-framed home with a porch that wrapped its entire perimeter. Seven handed some credits to the taxi and turned in time to see a tall, husky figure lumber out. He was wearing a black hat and cowboy boots.

In the utter darkness that had fallen, Janeway didn't recognize Chakotay until he was nearly two meters away. "Chakotay?" she whispered. "I never knew you were so…"

"Bowlegged?" he asked with a smile. "How are you, Admiral Janeway?"

She offered her hand, but he smirked and pulled her in for a hug.

"It's good to see you," he said, pulling away. "I'm glad you could make it."

He offered Seven a cold nod. "How are you, Seven?"

"I am well, Chakotay," she replied in a drone. "And you?"

Then a loud call from the distance. "Mama!"

Seven's reserve was abandoned in favor of a full smile as she walked quickly toward the little figure—also in cowboy hat and boots—who was exiting the barn.

"Mama!"

"Erik," she said, opening her arms in time to catch him. She grunted on impact and nearly fell over from the sheer force, but she'd extended her back leg just in time to absorb the loving blow.

Seven lifted the boy and swirled him around, kissing his face and nibbling his neck as he giggled.

Janeway's face hurt from the smile on her face. _Beautiful_, she thought.

"Mama! Mama! I can't bweave!" he yelled in the soft palate of a child.

She pulled back, watching the expansive rise and fall of his little chest. "Do you surrender?"

"Yeth, yeth!"

She dropped him to his feet, letting her hand glide up his arm and shoulder to playfully pinch his dimpled chin. "Very well, I will accept your surrender if you will give me a kiss."

He rose to the tips of his toes, bestowing a kiss on her offered cheek.

Seven sized him up, head to toe in the incisive Borg way. "You have grown a full centimeter since I saw you last," she said.

The boy grinned. "Daddy says I'm taw, wike you."

"Indeed," she replied. "However, you must maintain your intake of plant biomatter to reach your intended height."

Janeway stepped closer to get a better look at the boy by the dim light of the porch. Her curiosity about who he looked like had been intense and it was all she could do to keep from asking Seven, who kept no portraits of the boys. _("I have an eidetic memory, Kathryn. What need do I have of mere pictures?" she had said.)_

To Janeway's surprise, he had more Seven in him than she would have guessed. His hair was brown, at least in the dim light from the porch and his eyes were not obsidian, but colored. But there was no mistaking the full lips that tugged into easy grins.

The boy crinkled his nose. "I don't wike bwocowi," he said.

"Ah, then we shall forgo the broccoli ice cream," Seven teased dryly as she took the lad's hand.

"You bwought ice cweam?"

"Indeed, but since you do not care for plant biomatter, I shall consume it myself."

"It's nice to shawe," the boy said seriously.

She looked down and nodded once. "You are correct. Perhaps I will share then."

He began to skip alongside his mother.

"But you'll need to clean up first, mister," Chakotay called from behind the train of people that was headed to the sprawling main house.

"Okay," Erik replied, sprinting ahead.

Janeway finally laughed out loud. "Seven! I never knew you could be so devious?"

"You didn't bring ice cream?" Chakotay asked, stepping up beside his ex-wife.

Seven regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "I shall conjure some green confection in the kitchen. It is a simple matter to please the boy."

The boy met them at the door. The long sleeves of his red plaid cowboy shirt were sopping, as was the front of the shirt. "Where is it, mom?"

She patiently took his hand and pulled him aside. "First, I would like to introduce you to my friend, Kathryn Janeway."

At the gesture toward the stranger, Erik's face closed and he pulled closer to his mother's leg, avoiding Janeway's gaze. "Say hello, Erik," Seven gently urged.

"Hewwo."

Janeway stooped a little, bringing her eye to eye with the boy, and she offered her hand. "Hi Erik," she said. Even in her own ears, she knew she was trying too hard. "I'm really a good friend of both your parents."

He stared at the hand and then looked up at Seven, who urged him to take it with a nod. He slipped his smaller hand in and shook once before retrieving it suspiciously.

Janeway could see that his brown hair was a very complex color…more like burnished bronze with streaks of gold. His eyes were the color of warm caramel and his skin was well-loved by the sun.

He looked up without acknowledging Janeway again. "Can I have my ice cweam now?"

Seven smiled softly, letting her fingers caress his cheek. "Where is your brother?"

"Asweep," he replied. "So can I?"

Seven made no reply, but Janeway could sense the disappointment. "Have you eaten your dinner?"

"Yep," he said, rubbing his belly.

"Yes, ma'am," Chakotay corrected but was ignored.

Janeway's eyes refused to obey the order to look away from Seven as she walked Erik to the kitchen. Erik giggled and hugged his mother's leg, in between helping her to pour ingredients.

Nor did her lips obey the command to straighten its curvature.

Suddenly, Janeway felt the burn of inspection of her former First Officer. "He's charming, Captain," Janeway said, as they stood in the living room.

It was an expansive room with pale orange adobe walls and wood floors. Great wooden beams traversed the room. But despite the large size, it was warm from the large Native American tapestry that hung on a wall to the dark, richly textured sofas that clustered together in the middle of the room, beside a roaring fire.

"Thank you, Admiral."

She dropped her arms and regarded the man. "We sound like we've just been seated at the same table of a Starfleet function—"

"Like we didn't spend seven years together trying to survive? Yes, I know, you like order and regulations," he said.

She gave him a crooked smile. "As I recall, so did you, Chakotay!"

He shrugged, swinging his gaze toward Seven and Erik, who was standing on a chair beside his mother. He was alternating between stirring the wooden spoon and licking it.

"Do not contaminate the mixture," they both heard Seven say with not a hint of censure.

"The boys subsist in a swirling maelstrom of entropy," he said. "And it never ends."

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "I'm sure it doesn't," Janeway said tightly. She was relieved that none of the bewilderment over the strange comment could be heard in her voice.

Janeway tried to smile again before returning a watchful eye on Seven who took the spoon from the boy, but not before rubbing his nose with the business end. He giggled and tried to lick it off. Failing that, he scooped the glob into his palm and licked it from there.

She swallowed hard. "Disorder has its own rewards," she said wistfully.

Chakotay was studying her. He was acting like he knew something she didn't and that was beginning to annoy her. _He does!_ revealed that nagging little voice of hers inside her head. _He knows Seven in the throes of passion. You only know her in the throes of horticulture!_

She grimaced uncomfortably at the absurd tête-è-tête in her head, even though she wanted to coo at the vision of Seven tickling her son as they stirred the mixture. Janeway sighed, crossed her arms and turned a sharp expression on Chakotay. "You were saying, Captain."

He flinched at the tone but merely shrugged his shoulders. "I was listening," he replied. "Would you care for something to drink?"

She gave him a playful look. "Coffee," she said, drawing out the word. "You, of all people, should know!"

"I do know," he said, patting her arm as he stepped away. "I'll be right back."

Janeway was tempted to turn and take in the sumptuous home, but nothing really interested her more than Seven. She watched as he trailed feather touches on her shoulder to announce he was in the kitchen. Seven frowned and then something happened that reminded Janeway of another pattern long ago.

Janeway witnessed Seven flinch away from Chakotay's touch. Then her human eye began to twitch and a hand rubbed the back of her neck. "Hmm," she mused aloud. "Just like she used to do to me there at the end on Voyager."

Chakotay skipped back to her, seemingly oblivious to his ex-wife's apparent disgust… _Was Seven disgusted with me?_ Janeway wondered for the first time. _Did I somehow push her away? Am I doing it now?_

Chakotay looked over his shoulder in the direction of Admiral Janeway's study before he handed the Admiral a mug and a saucer. "I was wondering, Admiral," he said casually.

She stopped the mug halfway to her mouth. "Yes," she said, before taking a quiet sip.

"Seven and I have to appointment tomorrow in town. Tomorrow is Yelena's day off so I was wondering…."

"Yelena would be who, Chakotay?"

"The housekeeper," he said. "I thought you would know who… since you and…" Chakotay pivoted toward Seven. "Never mind. So, would you be willing to watch the boys for an hour?"

She was just about to set the cup on the saucer when Chakotay sprung the question. What should have been a gentle docking exercise of cup to saucer turned into a loud collision with ensuing coffee tsunamis on her pants.

"Oh dear," Janeway said, dabbing futilely with a small napkin at the brown stains on her white pants.

"Here," Chakotay said, brandishing a large red handkerchief.

"Thank you," she said. "I can't believe I did that."

When her pants were as dry as they could get, her coffee was replenished and they were again seated together in the living room, Chakotay leaned forward. "So was that a 'hell no'?" he asked with an easygoing smile.

"Was what a 'hell no'?" Janeway blinked as her voice trailed off the question. She realized the trap too late. "Of course, I'll watch them. I'm perfectly capable of minding two children for an hour, Chakotay."

"Two _small_ children," Chakotay clarified.

She frowned. "You must think I'm a complete dolt when it comes to children," she said playfully.

"Oh, no," he said. "I've seen you at the helm of a replicator before, remember? Surely, you aren't as bad as that?"

She gave him a playfully incendiary look. "We'll be fine."

Thank you," he said evenly.

Kathryn didn't want to be thanked. She wanted her head examined. But this was for Seven and that made all the difference.

=/\=

The next morning, Hawk woke everyone up with a loud shriek at the sight of his mother. His eyes were blue and his hair was dark; but he seemed to share his brother's nose and lips.

Both boys flanked her at the breakfast table. Her visit to the ensuite was met with loud protests, while the two boys sat outside the bathroom door, where they pouted and banged the old-fashioned wooden door until their mother reemerged.

Seven took their hands and led them to several presents she'd carefully wrapped. One was the nearly the size of the younger child and the other was slightly smaller.

"You may open these when daddy and I are gone."

Hawk, who was more than 18 months old, banged his hands on the covered boxes, oblivious to what was inside. Erik tucked his chin and eyed the packages suspiciously.

"Will you be good subunits?" Seven asked them, even as Chakotay already stood at the door with his cowboy hat in hand.

"Why can't I go?" Erik asked. "I'w be good."

"We will merely be signing official documents, Erik," Seven tried to reason. "An attorney's office is unsuitable for young children."

His face darkened and he crossed his little arms. "I don't wanna stay."

Seven lifted a brow at his tone. "Your preference is noted," she said, turning to her friend. "But Admiral Janeway will need your assistance."

"That's right," Kathryn said, with a grateful look to Seven. "You have to show me how to open these boxes—these big boxes."

Erik eyed the boxes and inched forward. He gingerly ran a finger along a taped edge. "They are awfuw big."

Seven watched Kathryn, even as Chakotay tugged at her elbow. She yanked her arm free, as she witnessed Kathryn actually sit on the floor and begin to entice her son. "What do you think's in here?" she asked, as she knocked on the box.

He put his ear to the top of it to listen. Erik's elfin features were intent.

"What did you hear?" Kathryn whispered.

"Nofing," he said. "Do it again."

Seven finally turned away before Kathryn could see her misty eyes.

=/\=

When Seven stepped onto the Chakotay's porch, the sun's rays were fading behind Mount Elden. Just as she reached for the old-fashioned door knob, Seven cocked her ears and narrowed her eyes. She tore open the screen door and stepped in, no surprise etched on her face, though Seven registered the dusting of flour in the kitchen and bone-chilling shrieks down the hall.

Seven turned to frown at Chakotay who tried to swallow a roar of laughter when Hawk raced into the living room, naked from the waist down. He was followed closely by a stooped Admiral, her hair a vortex of unruly auburn threads. As Kathryn looked up, her mouth dropped open. Seven caught the white powder that dusted her nose just before the Admiral's feet slipped from under her. She landed on her backside with a hard thud and an unladylike grunt.

Kathryn watched the semi-naked mongrel leap into his mother's waiting arms. She raised a knee on which to prop an arm and she scratched her left brow.

"Sorry we're late, Admiral," Chakotay said, as he offered her a hand that she waved away. She pushed herself up and patted her rear, white puffs billowing behind her. "But I'm glad you survived your day."

"I'm a farm girl, Captain," she said, without her usual charm. "That means I'm _tough_."

He nodded his head and smirked, covering his mouth with a palm. Finally, after a few moments of consummate restraint, Chakotay bellowed. The veins of his neck corded as he tried to suppress his response. "I'm sorry, Admiral," he finally wheezed. "But…." He laughed again at his own double entrendre.

Seven swiveled about. "Kathryn," she said. "Where is Erik?"

Janeway frowned and looked around. "I don't know," she said with a sigh. "He's hiding from me."

She burned Chakotay up with one of her infamous glare. But fury gave way quickly to irritation, when she realized it didn't have the same effect. The man just walked away, shaking his head and chuckling.

Before she could even gather what was left of her dignity, Kathryn felt a familiar presence beside her. "Erik is quite adept at mind games," Seven declared with a as consoling a tone as the Borg could muster. "He would frequently conceal himself from his father. It is a Pavlovian response to stress."

"That's comforting," Janeway said without meaning it.

=/\=

As Kathryn swept the last of the flour dust from the wood floor, Seven emerged from the boys' bedroom. Several strands hung uncharacteristically out of place by her temples.

"It is accomplished," she said, brushing rather closely by Kathryn as she presented herself before the replicator.

"Water, temperature 10 degrees Celsius."

A frosty glass appeared in the replicator and Seven took it. Before she sipped, she paused. "Kathryn, would you care for hydration?"

Kathryn wiped her forehead with a sleeve and leaned on the old-fashioned broom. "Got any whiskey?"

Seven's hand froze midway to her own glass of dihydrogen oxide and she regarded Kathryn for a long moment before speaking.

"What?" Kathryn said with a snort. "A good gulp of hot whiskey at bedtime, especially after a day like mine…" She flashed her crooked smile—the one that had served her so well in the past to disarm even the most ardent enemy—and she shrugged a shoulder. "It's not very scientific, but it helps."

"Kathryn." 

Seven's whisper was like an 80 isoton yield gravimetric torpedo for the former first Captain and she came to full alert. Even with all her personal and professional experiences, she was not prepared for the blow of five simple words that Seven would utter next.

"Alcohol is a poor anesthesia."

Kathryn felt time just screech to a halt under the keen Borg scrutiny. It was as if every heartbeat, every lustful thought was laid bare. _Can Seven of Nine possibly know that she's the reason I drink myself into a senseless stupor?_ The thought made Kathryn involuntarily recoil. It was a mere nanometer, but it was enough. She watched as Seven seemed to measure the infinitesimal chasm that divided them. There was no mistaking the look of damage in Seven's delphinium blues that a retreat at such a remarkably crucial and emotional moment may have caused.

Kathryn strangled a helpless sob in her throat but before she could do more, Chakotay entered the living room. The moment evaporated like a branch hurtling toward a gas giant; but not before Kathryn heard Seven mutter something about it not being time.

Before she could ask about it, Chakotay was standing in front of them both, fists on his hips and a piqued look in his dark eyes as they bore into the figure of his ex-wife. "I think we should finish our discussion, don't you?"

Seven lifted her glass and pointedly took a long swallow, before she flicked a brow at him and walked cat-like toward the screen door with its beckoning cool breeze. "Kathryn, are you interested in joining me on the porch?"

There was something inviting in Seven's voice, a timbre that Kathryn had never quite heard before. For a moment, all that existed was a luscious Borg, standing in a gauzy blue shirt that hugged her curves and tight leggings that tapered down the ankles. Her azure eyes were twinkling. The plump lips wore an impish coil that made her forget about the man who was beginning to shift uncomfortably on his feet.

Just as Kathryn made the conscious decision to join the lovely Borg, Chakotay said: "Would you please excuse us, Admiral. I have something to talk to Seven about and it's a _family_ matter—?"

Janeway's "all right" and Seven's "unnecessary" collided in the air. Janeway looked at Seven, a little startled.

"She will remain," Seven said in colder tones than usual.

"It's okay," Janeway said, making to rise. "I have to…"

Seven put a hand on her thigh, halting anymore desire to leave. "Please do not leave," she said.

"Seven, I want to talk to you about our sons," Chakotay said through clenched teeth.

Seven nodded once. "Very well," she said, turning to stand in front of her ex-husband. "Proceed."

"How about…your boys need you," he said.

_The bastard,_ Janeway thought. _Using his own children against their mother._

"Commander Pfleger said your quit your research post in Los Alamos—or they did they fire you?"

Janeway's eyes widened to realize that Seven had not told her ex-husband about her promotion.

"Judging from Admiral Janeway's reaction, I'd say they fired you."

Seven affected a bored expression. "I was not fired, Chakotay. I was promoted."

"Promoted? What the hell?—Oh, I get it. You're now researching Borg technologies. Makes sense."

"Incorrect deduction, Captain," she said.

He flinched as if she'd punched him.

Meanwhile, Janeway wanted to melt into the chair.

"Well, Seven?"

"I am an Admiral at Starfleet Command?"

His eyes widened and he wiped his mouth with a nod. He pursed his lips and let his eyebrows roll up derisively. "They must be desperate."

Janeway leaned forward. "You know what, Seven," she said, pulling forward. "I think I should give you…"

"That would be best," Chakotay added.

"This concerns you, Kathryn," Seven said.

"What?" Janeway and Chakotay said.

Seven gestured to her ex-husband, who had put on at least ten kilos since she'd seen him last. "You were saying, Chakotay?"

Chakotay crossed his arms. Janeway didn't like that his standing put Seven at a disadvantage but she didn't seem bothered by it.

"Don't you think it's about time that you forget Starfleet and remember your sons?"

Seven's delphinium blue eyes locked for once on Kathryn. Kathryn saw the brightness switch instantly to coldness. She lifted her chin and turned with disgust away from her ex-husband. "What I do with my life should be irrelevant to you."

She breezed by him and stopped in front of Janeway. "Do you wish to take a ride with me?"

Before Janeway could answer, Chakotay surged forward. "No you don't! We've got to talk about this, dammit."

She slowly turned a furnace blast on him. Though her voice did not rise above a soft tone, there was no mistaking the venom. "I believe we just conclude our discussion. I will not alter my plans."

"They need you, dammit!" he yelled, making Janeway jump. He noticed the movement and bit down hard on his molars, running a frustrated hand through is hair. "Look, it's fine that you got a post you actually like now. But you didn't give birth to drones. They're boys who need their mother."

Seven narrowed her eyes as she turned to finally face him. "Tell me, Chakotay," she said, almost casually. But her tensed body belied the fury.

Janeway hopped up from the couch, gesturing toward the front door. "I think I'll take a tour while you two—"

Seven captured the woman's wrist. "No," she said imperiously. "No. I do not want you to leave," she said. Then to Janeway's dark look, she added in a small voice: "Please, Kathryn. Stay."

"You are just going to use your old Captain—"

Janeway bristled at the term "old" while Seven visibly hardened at her ex-husband's words.

"This. Concerns. Her." Seven's words were sharp, cutting bone and marrow. Her former crewman was careful to avoid Janeway's questioning eyes.

She stared with dismay at the once stoic Borg. She seemed to be missing some undercurrent, but wasn't sure what. She was really superfluous to this family and she wondered why Seven would be so adamant of dragging her into the middle of it.

The Admiral even found herself nodding slightly to Chakotay's assessment.

"No, it doesn't, Seven," he said. "No, it doesn't. It involves this family—"

"Which was dissolved lawfully," she added. "It also involves your pride."

Janeway could tell from his half step back that Seven had hit a nerve. She whipped her head to look alarm at what Seven of Nine said next.

"I am an admiral now."

He narrowed his eyes. "So that's it."

"You are not surprised?" Seven said, finally stepping away from the porch door. Instead of finding a comfortable perch in the living area, by the fireplace, Seven came to stand beside Janeway.

"No," he said, shaking his head and giving a sad, dry laugh. "Not at all."

Janeway heard the resignation in his voice and for the first time felt sympathy for him. But not so, Seven. She crossed her arms and her voice became an icy dagger.

"You believe it should it is _you_ who should be Admiral," she accused.

Chakotay's jaw muscles rippled. "Is that what you think?"

"I do," Seven said with a lift of the chin.

"You're boys!" he began with a shout that hurt the ears of both women. "They need you and they want to be near _you_. Why can't you just take that desk job in Phoenix…?"

Janeway wished for a gaping black hole to open up inside of Chakotay's lovely home. She'd willingly fall through it just to escape this torment. It was very different from the scene so many years ago when she happened on the two of them in the Cargo Bay, wrapped in each other's arms. That had been excruciating, though for different reasons altogether. What tied that scene to this one, however, was the singular exclusion Janeway felt. Seven loved him and now Seven shared a past and a future with him, despite the dissolution of their legal status. That would never be the case for her and Seven of Nine. Janeway wanted to belong to Seven and a lump began to form in her throat when she realized that she never would.

Standing behind the sofa where Seven had planted herself, Janeway looked down when she felt a tickle on her hand. It was the tip of Seven's thumb rubbing ever so gently on the back of her hand. The concern in the usually placid features made the present-day crash down all around Janeway, especially when she felt a single tear slide down her cheek. She rushed to brush it with the cuff of her shirt. "Oh dear," she said in a scratchy voice.

Seven's troubled expression made Kathryn want to shrink and she watched helplessly as the Borg shared a knowing look with Chakotay. Kathryn cleared her throat. "I believe it's time for me to turn in," she said, trying desperately to instill her voice with a lightness she certainly didn't feel.

When she turned to go, Seven's strong hand reached for her wrist, easily holding her in place. "Please, Kathryn," she whispered. Seven quickly and efficiently worked her way round the sofa, still gripping the woman. "Stay."

Kathryn inhaled deeply. _Why is Seven doing this?_ she wondered. But she acquiesced and nodded once, trying to hide the motion of brushing another tear. Seven stood shoulder to shoulder with the Admiral and faced her ex-husband. "You are accurate," Seven said tersely.

"I am?" He tipped his head, suspicious of the quick surrender.

"Kathryn and I shall leave post haste," she announced.

Kathryn could hardly suppress a small gasp.

"But we shall be taking the subunits with us."

"What?" Janeway and Chakotay asked simultaneously.

Janeway's distress was quickly replaced by total fear. Her flight reflex was again thwarted by sheer Borg power. She looked down to find the chain-mail-clad hand gripping her forearm.

Chakotay's bellow once again brought her back to the emotional present. "You don't have any place to live!" he accused.

"I live with Kathryn," she said. "Now the children will live with us."

Janeway swallowed hard, as she absorbed Seven's maneuver. _This is what I wanted, right? _

"Kathryn doesn't know anything about children!" Chakotay accused.

Janeway turned wide eyes on him. _He was right, of course_, she thought miserably. Today's babysitting adventure had been an unmitigated failure.

Chakotay nodded his chin at Admiral Janeway. "Go on," he said. "Tell Seven how quiet you like your place."

_That's not what I said,_ she thought. Janeway felt the burn of their furious gazes. She'd served on countless diplomatic missions, both in the Delta Quadrant and in the Federation. None of them had adequately prepared her for cascading poison of emotional attachment and vulnerability.

She swallowed hard as she met Chakotay's determined glare. But something deep inside told her to focus on Seven of Nine. Her hand remained in place, only a metal-covered pinky stroked down far enough to find the exposed skin of her wrist. _She looks hopeful!_ Janeway thought, pulling back slightly to consider the woman again. The surprise fell quickly down a deep well and was replaced by confusion. _But why?_ Janeway's swirling vortex of conflicting emotions fogged her mind. She opened her mouth to speak but the words lodged themselves in her throat.

"You see that? She's shocked," he said.

_No! I'm not_, she thought. Janeway's eyes blazed in frustration.

Seven patted Janeway's arm before relinquishing it. "She will adapt."

"Yes! I will adapt!" Janeway said triumphantly, turning a brilliant smile on the Borg woman. "Yes, I will."

Chakotay pursed his lips in consternation. "This isn't happening," he said.

Seven was nearly halfway across the room, on a mission to her bedroom. She pivoted back. "The event unfolds, Chakotay. Just as predicted."

The words caused both Starfleet Officers to snap their heads toward her. "What do you mean?" Janeway asked.

Seven merely flicked a brow. Chakotay fell to his heels in resignation and his hands unclenched. "Go wake them, Seven. So you don't get back too late."

Seven nodded and left again.

Janeway felt dizzy from the ricochet of logic and passions. "What just happened?" she asked with a croak.

The man studied her a long moment before answering. "You're not ready," he said.

"Excuse me?" She took a menacing step forward and placed her hands on her hips.

He recognized the challenge in her voice. You never challenged Kathryn Janeway without suffering the consequences.

Chakotay walked to a wood chest in a dark corner. He unfastened the lock and pulled a door down. Arranged largest to smallest were a set of crystal decanters filled with liquids of varying colors. He took a glass, decanting a purple liquid into it. He swallowed the entire contents at once, hissing as it burned down his throat. He poured another before he finally turned to answer his former Captain.

"Admiral Janeway—the other you—she predicted this," Chakotay said flatly, throwing himself on the sofa. The purple liquid sloshed around, but he managed to keep most but a few drops from falling onto his trousers.

"Predicted what?"

He took another small sip. "She kissed me," he said, tilting his head to watch how the revelation would affect the Admiral.

"Who? The other Janeway?" She snarled at the use of her own surname to describe someone who wasn't her.

"Put her tongue in my mouth and grabbed me." He shifted in his seat, thrusting his hips out just enough for Kathryn to get the gist.

Her closed her eyes and covered them with a palm. "That woman!" she jeered. "What did she say? That she loved you?"

"No," he said with a slur. His drink was mellowing him already. "It was an apology, of sorts."

Her head snapped up. "For what?"

"Just remember," he said, as they both turned to see Seven carrying two suitcases, a toddler and being trailed by a fussy boy. Chakotay stood and stepped toward Kathryn. "I tried to stop the careening starship."

She furrowed her brow but before she could make any sense of it, Seven asked her to take the baby because Erik was crying. _Oh, boy_, she thought. Not for the second time in her life, she wanted to kick her older self in the ass.


	7. Life Imitates Art

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Thank you for all of you who have left reviews and sent nice messages. Hope you like this last chapter. If you do, please be kind and leave a review. Thanks and enjoy.

**Equal Opportunity**

**Chapter 7: Life Imitates Art**

Janeway was relieved that Seven wasn't so infatuated with train travel that she opted to return with two children in tow that way. Instead, they'd made their way to the nearest transporter station with all due haste and were in San Francisco in mere minutes. The short walk to her house was nothing, as she carried the toddler. Haakon's head lay on her shoulder, while she hauled an anti-grav sled behind her with several small valises Seven had packed for the children.

Seven meanwhile held Erik, the long and gangly boy, in the same way. But her Borg strength made it appear to be so easy. The only thing that gave away the complexity of balancing an unconscious person on her briskly walking frame was Seven's constant need to readjust the boy.

Kathryn admired the flexing of Seven's taut gluteus maximus under her trousers. She exhaled slowly. _This was utterly ridiculous_, she chided herself. _I'm straight. Seven's straight. Nothing can come of this. Cum... Damn. _

Kathryn closed her eyes for just a split second as the thought of touching Seven intimately overwhelmed her. It even took her several long nanoseconds before she felt a gentle pressure on the small of her back. It was a touch she leaned into ever so briefly, until she heard the distressed tones in the voice that whispered her name.

"Kathryn," Seven said.

With her Borg appendage still steadying the older woman, Seven fully faced her.

Kathryn searched Seven's face. She marked twin lines between Seven's eye and her ocular implant. Her lips were slightly parted and her head tipped to one side. Without thinking, Kathryn slid her hand along Seven's forearm. "I'm fine, Seven," Kathryn said, feeling Seven's hand caress her arm in return. "I just think I need to visit the holosuite exercise rooms at Headquarters more often."

Kathryn frowned at the look of momentary uncertainty in the Borg's eyes. "I'm out of shape," she said, her voice throaty and playful.

Seven lifted a brow and slowly, her eyes slid down Kathryn's body. At each place Seven lingered—Kathryn's breasts, her arms, her midriff and her legs—the admiral's body tingled.

Seven's eyes found Kathryn's again and she stepped closer. The admiral held her breathe as Seven's wonderfully prominent breasts came so close to her own. "You are incorrect," Seven whispered.

Kathryn held her breath, as she felt as if she was going to fall into a whirling hole of lust, where irresistible gravity would pull her toward forbidden desires.

But as was her custom, Seven did the unexpected. She reached for the controls of the anti-grav sled, making Kathryn want to cry out for her tender touch.

_You are ridiculous! _she hissed at herself. _You are in the middle of a major thoroughfare—with children in tow, no less! And you want a straight woman to take you here in the middle of it all. Absurdity!_

Powered by her own irrational thoughts, Kathryn gripped the handle tightly, giving Seven an offensive glare that did little to frustrate the ex-Borg. Seven easily wrestled the anti-grav controls from the Admiral.

"I had that," Kathryn growled, through a few puffed breaths.

Seven paused for a brief moment, her singular eyebrow scrawled in sharp lines. She examined Kathryn closely, before finally answering. "Then it is the proper time index for my shift," Seven said precisely, with a faint smirk and a haughty lift of her chin.

Before Kathryn could muster another irascible defense against the burning need for Seven's touch, she realized they were approaching her house. Kathryn squinted at it. "Did I forget to turn off those goddamned lights?" she barked, making the boy she held jump.

She cringed, trying to pat his back as she fumbled for her key. Just before she inserted the key into the knob, it turned and the door opened. Kathryn Janeway was greeted by two female relatives, both wide-eyed with surprise.

=/\=

Earlier, Phoebe Janeway stood back from the oil painting she'd just hung over Kathryn's mantel. She crossed her arms and felt the warm smile spread across her face. It was the fastest piece she'd ever painted—record time of inside a month. And she was pleased.

"I don't get it," her elderly mother said behind her.

Phoebe crinkled her nose. "What don't you get?" She turned in time to watch the snow-haired woman jam a pair of spectacles on her nose and leer up at the meter high art.

"Seven Delights?" Gretchen Janeway said, reading the golden identification plate that was etched with the words.

Phoebe leaned an elbow on the mantel and a small growl of satisfaction reverberated in her chest as she looked up at the abstract piece. "Hmm," she murmured.

The piece was a meter by a meter and a half, bordered with an ornate wooden frame. Most of the canvas was covered with thick inky blue pigment.

"These brush strokes remind me of Van Gogh's work," Gretchen said thoughtfully.

Phoebe snorted at the comparison. "Yah," she barked sarcastically. "The themes are radically different, not to mention the color choices."

As if she hadn't heard the scorn in her daughter's voice, Gretchen continued to examine the piece closely. "Impasto style, I believe."

Her dark brows came together, creasing the flesh between them. Then Gretchen shook her head, sliding the glasses from her nose as she stepped back to get a different view. Her deep blue eyes were drawn to the central images of cream pigments that seemed to suggest the contours of interlocking Z 's, two nested between two inverted letters.

"What is this in the middle here? Incomplete triangles and…?"

Her outstretched hand circled the air in front of the cream colored paint. The air rippled across the iridescent protective covering of the piece. She gestured with a be-ringed finger to the faint hilly terrain behind the interlocking Z 's. "Is this a landscape piece?"

Phoebe's laughter bubbled up, punctuating each of her hiccups with a guffaw. "Um, that would be no, mother."

Gretchen tipped her head to one side. "I don't know," she said finally. "There aren't seven objects in this painting. There's that smiling moon up there…like a damn Cheshire cat, if you ask me. But these I don't get."

Phoebe sighed. "It's for _Katie_," she said. "Not you. Remember?"

Gretchen pulled back. "Well, if she can figure this out then she is more of a genius than I realize."

Just then, they heard the murmur of voices on the porch. "Good Lord, I can't believe how late she's been working." Gretchen clucked her teeth in disappointment. "Just like her father."

Phoebe reached down and hauled the door back, catching a surprised Kathryn midway to inserting the key. A child was draped over her shoulder and the sight made Mrs. Janeway coo pleasantly.

"Kathryn?" Gretchen said in a rickety voice. "I know I haven't seen you in a while, but children?"

Janeway frowned at the mischievous glint in her mother's eye. "Mother," Kathryn hissed. "What are you doing here?" She pushed past the women, bequeathing her mother with a helpless plea.

The self-satisfaction on Phoebe's face stopped Katie. "What are you doing here?" she growled, covering the boy's ear with a hand.

Phoebe smiled mysteriously and took a sip of Romulan Merlot. "My duty," she said before leaving her older sister to puzzle it out. She stepped forward to take a satchel from Seven's hand. "Mother, I don't think you've met Admiral Seven Hansen," she said, gesturing to her bewildered mother. "Admiral, this is our mother, Gretchen Janeway."

Seven paused, laying a hand on the back of her son as she studied the elder Janeway. "It is a pleasure to meet you," she said finally, taking Gretchen's hand firmly.

"You must work with my Katie at Starfleet Command?" she asked.

Seven smiled faintly at Mrs. Janeway's phrase. "Yes, in fact, I do." Seven pivoted gracefully toward Katie, their eyes meeting in an unmistakable flash of animal hunger.

Phoebe nearly laughed out loud at the unguarded moment. "So go put the kids in the bed," Phoebe said, brushing them along with flicks of her wrist.

Kathryn frowned. "I wasn't expecting you both. It seems I'm out of room."

Gretchen lightly touched her chest with her fingertips. "Oh, dear, I think we—"

"Don't be silly, Katie," Phoebe said, stepping between her mother and sister. "We aren't staying."

"You're not?—" Kathryn asked at the same time her mother said, "We're not?"

"Get the kids settled in the bedroom," Phoebe said imperiously. "We'll talk when you both get back. I'll fix drinks."

Seven turned to comply with the order and began to carry her oldest son, still sound asleep on her shoulder, to the bedroom. Kathryn pivoted around to give a suspicious glance before Phoebe rolled her eyes.

"Git!" Phoebe whispered.

=/\=

Phoebe was hoping that her type-A sister would take a long dip in liquid nitrogen to cool down before she returned. But something had Katie on edge and Phoebe was pretty sure that she was going to catch sisterly hell for it. As the pair descended, Katie didn't look any more relaxed. So instead of focusing on what her sister didn't like—which she'd had to do all her life, as the second fiddle—Phoebe turned to regard her work of art. _Work of life_, she told herself. _This will ignite them._

Just as she'd hoped, Katie's eyes followed hers to the oil painting. Phoebe watched as her sister's eyebrows shot up expectantly. Phoebe's response was to tug her lips into the patented crooked Janeway smile.

Katie's eyes narrowed. "What have you done?" she asked as she belligerently seized the glass of wine her sister offered.

Phoebe tried to swallow a giggle when some of the red liquid splashed on Kathryn's wrinkled white blouse. Kathryn gurgled a curse deep in her chest and Phoebe let out a small and nearly sympathetic murmur. "Don't worry about it, Katie," she said as she looked directly at Seven.

Seven seemed to shrink slightly under the anomalous scrutiny of the younger Janeway and she busied herself with capturing an offered flute of wine from Mrs. Janeway—though she had no intention of consuming the vile liquid.

When the Borg's back was turned, Phoebe leaned into her older sister and whispered: "You won't be wearing that shirt for very long anyhow." Then Phoebe provocatively winked at Katie and her mouth pouted seductively.

Phoebe recognized her older sister's look too late. Katie had set the goblet on the mantel and, in a nanosecond, her hands were wrapped around her sister's finely boned wrists. "Hey now!" Phoebe wailed.

Gretchen, who'd been quietly conversing with Seven, finally turned, astonishment etched in every furrow. "Girls?" she said in a shaky voice.

Phoebe used Katie's split second of indecision to wrench her hands free. She rubbed them unmercifully as she put some distance between her and her lust-addled sister.

"Are you all right, Phoebe?" Gretchen asked.

Phoebe brushed straight raven locks from her shoulder with a haughty flick of her wrist. "Of course, mother," she said, turning a mega-joule smile on Seven of Nine. "Did you get to talk about Voyager yet?"

The name of the ship lit a fire in Gretchen's eyes, just as surely as it did in Seven's. "Voyager?" Gretchen inquired.

Phoebe wrapped an arm around Seven's waist and walked the two women to the couch. "Seven served on Voyager for a number of years."

"In the Delta Quadrant?" Gretchen asked before bombarding Seven with all sorts of questions about her experiences. Seven seemed happy to relate, with exacting details, the experiences that Mrs. Janeway was interested in, particularly since Captain Janeway had been a personal interest of hers as well.

Phoebe settled back against the opposite couch. She spread her arms on the fluffy white cushions and tried really hard not to look too smug. She was now ready to launch into the sell job about the painting. But her dear mother needed a little time to catch up. She waited, enjoying the uncharacteristic view of Katie being fried to the bone right in front of her and unable to do anything about it. Katie was trying to burn furious holes into her with her eyes. But Phoebe just ignored her sister, fueling the unruly indignation that Katie could hardly suppress as she took a seat beside the luscious Borg.

After the obligatory discussions were held about how they knew each other, how Gretchen was doing, how much she enjoyed having her eldest daughter home, how Seven was acclimating to life in the Alpha Quadrant, and how she liked her new position at Starfleet Command, the four settled down to an uncomfortable quiet.

Phoebe took this as her queue. "So, how do you like it?" she asked, gesturing to the piece.

She watched Katie's eyes skim over it, quickly taking in the black and blue textured background, the crescent moon and the bold, white strokes near the center. Then she saw recognition light Katie's face as she skimmed the yellow scrawl of Phoebe's artistic signature.

Seven of Nine stood close to the painting, her eyes traveling down the piece in a choreography that Phoebe was starting to recognize.

"Seven Delights," Seven finally read the nameplate at the bottom. Katie's eyes widened as she searched the painting again. Phoebe felt a great deal of pleasure when understanding dawned on her older sister's face—for a brief moment, anyway. Until Katie turned narrow eyes and an incendiary glare her way.

"What?" Phoebe asked innocently.

"Do you get it, Katie?" Gretchen asked, coming to stand beside Seven. She gazed up. "I don't." Then she looked at Seven. "Do you?"

Seven tipped her head to the side as she looked on. "There are neither seven symbols nor seven images in this work," Seven said.

"Really?" Phoebe asked with faint humor as Katie's face flushed to red. She couldn't help but relish the small power—after so many years at the hands of an overbearing and insufferably perfect older sister.

Gretchen's gaze bounced uncomfortably between her two daughters. "What is with you two tonight?"

Phoebe rolled her eyes and shrugged a shoulder while Katie seethed silently. The veins at Katie's neck were beginning to cord and her skin was turning a delightful shade of fuchsia.

Gretchen sighed. "This is getting to be ridiculous," she said in that tone that Phoebe recognized well. Unfortunately Mrs. Janeway held no more sway over her adult children. The elderly woman gestured to the painting. "All right," she said, with practiced but fabricated patience. "So explain it then, dear Phoebe."

"Well, that would take the fun out of it," she said, pushing herself up from her knees while smiling winningly at the not-so-subtle fury of her sister's expression. Phoebe gestured to the interconnected letters across the middle.

"What are those?" Gretchen asked again. "Chimes or something?"

Phoebe laughed mirthfully from the throat, all the while never taking her eyes from Katie. "Chimes, no. Try arms and legs," she said, pronouncing the key words with great care. "Two pairs, to be exact."

"Two pairs…?" Gretchen said with alarm. Her eyes widened as she repeated the title of the piece. Then she slapped a palm over her eyes. "Oh, my Lord, Phoebe. This is one of your pornographic—"

"Mother!" Katie said, trying to drown out the rest.

Phoebe enjoyed watching Seven struggle to make sense of the cacophony and the abstract painting. Her eyes were wide, darting between mother and daughter. Still the Borg held back, as if she were missing a vital clue. _Would she get it?_ _Maybe she needed a little help, _Phoebe thought.

"Oh, come on, mother," Phoebe said casually. "You're a traditionalist, what could possibly be _more_ traditional than good old-fashioned _sex_." The last word—spoken in a sultry tone—seem to hang in the air like an echo.

Gretchen hiccupped and then a red glow suffused her face. Her mother responded, but Phoebe was enjoying the process of Seven's thinking, as she finally let her eyes rest on the central images. Seven's eyes traced the dark, faint background of the hips and thighs, trailing along intertwined arms and legs.

She was still studying the oil painting when she heard Gretchen begin to apologize to Seven. _That's it! We're done_, Phoebe thought. She took the hand of her dismayed mother. "Okay, mom. I think it's time to leave."

Gretchen Janeway attempted to pull back. "But—but…"

But Phoebe was insistent. As she hauled the woman out the door, she smiled back at her unsettled sister. "Bye, Katie," she said, blowing a kiss her way. "We'll call later. Much, much later." She winked to Seven as she left, pointedly ignoring her sister's daggers.

=/\=

Kathryn felt like decompressing a really loud string of swear words—ones that would likely make even a Borg drone with access to a billion lives just blush to the tips of her blonde hair. Instead she let out a breathy sigh. _Damn Phoebe for meddling,_ she thought. But Phoebe was gone. Kathryn could hear the diabolical ticking of that damned grandfather clock she'd purposefully stopped winding. _Phoebe reset that damned clock!_ Kathryn stared at the door a second more, disgusted that she actually wanted her sister to come back to fill the dreaded silence. But Phoebe was long gone. _Damn her!_

Slowly Kathryn lifted her eyes. Seven watched her carefully and her hands were tucked behind her back. _Not good. _

=/\=

Seven wanted to Kathryn in her arms and replicate the art. Yet, from Kathryn's bowed head and the heavy sigh that escaped her, she was not ready. The Admiral Janeway from the alternate reality had advised Seven.

"_You must wait, Seven. If you are the aggressor, our Katie will retreat into a place we will never be able to reach her."_

"_But, Admiral," Seven had said, remembering in exacting detail. "How will I know?"_

_The elder Janeway stepped closer, letting her eyes wondered the familiar face of the Borg. "Lovely," she had whispered. "So lovely."_

"_Admiral," Seven had protested. _

_The Admiral tugged her tunic and she leaned one elbow back on the Astrometrics console. "Our Katie is a rational creature first, Seven. You know that about her."_

_Seven had thought for a moment—a million calculations per second as she considered the elderly woman standing in front of her. "I must provide data to prepare her."_

_The Admiral let her head fall back in a throaty laugh. "Oh, Seven," she had said, wiping a tear from her eye. "You're the perfect match for her…for us. Really, you are. Who else would even understand our need for information as…foreplay?"_

_Seven tipped her head, conducting her own study of the older features. "Indeed," she had said. Seven remembered precisely the sound of her voice—thick and husky. Seven registered the copious excretions of the Bartholin's glands at the opening of her vagina. "I am experiencing arousal."_

_The old admiral's lips flickered and then tugged into the familiarly enchanting crooked grin. "We can't have that," she had whispered, stepping closer to the tall woman. _

The memory of alternate-Admiral Janeway searing her lips with a kiss that day so long ago, made the Borg sway now. With her perfect memory, Seven felt the heat radiating from the smaller woman as she boldly brought their lips together. She felt a spiraling wave of lust circle her from head to toe when the Admiral had pulled their bodies flush.

In the present Seven placed her chain-maile covered hand on the mantle to prevent herself from malfunctioning further.

=/\=

"Seven?" Kathryn asked, as she watched Seven teeter beside the fireplace. "Are you all right?"

Seven blinked, briefly looking around as if to orient herself in her surroundings. "Kathryn," she whispered.

Kathryn stood beside the woman, doing her best to steady the woman. The neutrality of Seven's luscious lips gave Kathryn's heart a lurch. Facing Seven was hard—Seven, who had just argued with her ex-husband. Seven who was probably rattled beyond all measure by the implications of a careless painting. Seven who had every right to pack her bags and return to the Starfleet HQ dorms, taking her boys with her. "I'm sorry, Seven," Kathryn whispered.

Seven turned to closely examine the artwork. Without looking back at her, Seven asked: "For what do you apologize?"

"For my sister, for the surprise of their visit after such a stressful day, for the Romulan merlot and for coming home to this…this…" Kathryn waved at the painting. "This monstrosity."

"Do you not like the painting?"

Kathryn's frustration found its way to her expression. Her auburn brows were scrawled angrily over her eyes. "Do you like it?"

Seven turned back and let her eyes roam where they will. "I do."

"Do you—do you—oh, dear," Kathryn said, as she pushed one palm into her back and rubbed her head with the other. "I can't ask this next question without sounding like a pompous ass."

"Do I understand it?" Seven supplied, without a hint of injury.

Kathryn looked up intently into Seven's eyes. "Do you?"

=/\=

In a nanosecond, Seven considered the four-point-two million responses available to her—all wholly inadequate to the task. There was only one response she wanted to give. _I shall press my lips to hers_, Seven thought as she carefully set her wine glass on the mantle. _Then I will insert my tongue…_ But as she approached Kathryn, could feel her presence radiating outward, she thought of the old Admiral.

"_Our Katie is a rational creature."_

Seven wanted to take the woman in her arms, but she resisted. She'd waited too long to jeopardize what the future. Instead of yielding to her desire, Seven looked back at the painting. "Yes, Kathryn."

=/\=

Seven waited patiently, her eyes roaming over strategic vistas of Kathryn's face. The Admiral felt the scrutiny, unlike any other she'd experienced. She tugged at her shirt and brushed the side of her head with a palm. _Damn Phoebe!_ Kathryn thought out of frustration. _Why did you do this to me?_

To ease herself into the conversation, Kathryn looked back at the painting. Now all she could see in her sister's painting were two nude women entwined in the throes of love. _Damn Phoebe,_ her mind hissed again. Kathryn cleared her throat. "Then you do not object to the contents…."

"I do not object to love, Kathryn."

Kathryn grimaced but carefully avoided Seven's eyes. "There's more than that going on," she said, clearing her throat. "These are…" she gestured to the two figures captured in such an intimate moment. "These are two women."

"Two _fortunate_ women," Seven added quietly.

Kathryn lowered her head, shaking it slightly as she scratched her scalp. "These are two women making love to _each other_, Seven."

"Kathryn, I am aware of the range of human sexuality."

Kathryn suddenly felt like the pompous ass she'd been trying to avoid. _Damn you, Phoebe for putting me in this predicament! _

She sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Seven," she whispered. "Again. I didn't mean to suggest that you were ignorant—"

"But I am ignorant, Kathryn. I have never made love to a woman."

Kathryn's frustrations came out as a warble in her throat. "Seven," she said, shaking her head. "You're straight."

"Am I?"

That's when Kathryn knew that she was not imagining the signals she was receiving. _She wants me to kiss her! She wants _me_ to kiss _her_. _A spark of resentment flared up that Kathryn found hard to suppress. "Where is this coming from, Seven? A rebound from Chakotay?"

Seven's reaction was devoid of any emotions, which was not surprising. "Define rebound."

"Rebound," she said more testily than she meant. "Finding another relationship to sooth the pain of your recent breakup. Rebound."

Seven showed that she had considered the definition before she responded. "Incorrect," she said. "The dissolution of my marriage occurred long before the official stardate indicates. Neither date is 'recent'."

Janeway narrowed her eyes slightly. "None of this makes sense to me."

"Why not?"

"You married my First Officer, for one thing." Janeway did not want to delve into the particulars of what she felt when she saw them kissing in the Cargo bay so long ago. _It doesn't matter. Seven must be drunk. Phoebe's Romulan Merlot did this, _she thought darkly._ Damn my sister. _

=/\=

Seven finally understood why the old Admiral had urged this tactic. The truth was more complex that it seemed and in order to woo the Captain, she must correct the record. Seven wandered to the couch, taking a place at the edge, her legs adjusted to one side and her back ram-rod straight. "Please, Kathryn," she said, gesturing to another seat. "Sit down."

Kathryn sat opposite her, any and all sexual energies having dissipated with the memories of their last interactions on Voyager.

"I have wanted you since stardate 54827.7."

"Wanted me since stardate 54827.7?" she asked, her voice rising shrilly. "We were still in the Delta Quadrant."

"Correct," Seven replied.

Janeway visibly hardened and she arched a brow. "Weren't you kissing Chakotay in my cargo bay then?"

"That is also correct," she said. Seven worked hard to control the rising of her own blood pressure and respiration. She had released nanoprobes to neutralize the adrenaline that had been excreted into her system at the start of this conversation. She has always been adept at controlling her physical reactions through artificial means and this was no different.

At Janeway's resigned nod, Seven hastily added: "But that is not the entirety of events."

"Oh?"

"Prior to the incident you cite—"

"You mean you and Chakotay in my cargo bay—"

"I ran a simulation."

Janeway rolled her eyes. "Terrific—"

"I ascertained that you would reject me."

With satisfaction, Seven noted that Janeway's growing cynicism was arrested by her admission.

"Reject you?"

"So I programmed several hundred nanoprobes to stimulate adverse neurological responses to your presence."

Janeway frowned. "Why would you do that to yourself, Seven?"

"So that I would not continue to derive pleasure by your mere presence."

"So you, in essence, rejected me before I could, in fact, reject you."

"I could not bear the thought of losing you."

"But you did nicely finding a suitable replacement."

Seven felt a sharp pain in her chest. This was not as straightforward as the old Admiral indicated that it would be. It was painful. Seven adjusted herself, even as she forced back any indication of pain.

"I forged an ill-fated alliance with a _convenient _replacement. But he was an unsuccessful substitute for you."

Janeway furrowed her brows. "So your obvious distaste for me was what?"

"A programmed response."

Kathryn's eyes misted and she batted at them, even as she shot to her feet. "It hurt me," she whispered, marching toward the large bay window.

Any other person would not have been able to hear Kathryn's faint murmur. But Seven's Borg auditory acuity was exceptional.

Even as she neared the woman, Seven recognized the signs of Kathryn digging in for a protracted battle. The auburn-haired woman folded her arms across her chest and put her back to Seven.

"I am sorry, Kathryn. I could not see beyond my own needs and I was not prepared to deal with my grief. I did not mean to harm you in any way."

"It's just as well," Kathryn said in a hard voice.

Seven stood, her blood pressure beginning to climb again with the implications of Janeway's final words. "What do you mean, Kathryn?" she asked as she stepped closer.

=/\=

Kathryn could see the lights dancing off the bay. It was a lovely scene, except she couldn't enjoy it. Instead she was having to relive the loss of Seven of Nine all over again. It was like a twisted holonovel whose program was maliciously looped at the bitter end.

She felt Seven rise from her perch and heard the light footfalls across the wooden floors. "What do you mean, Kathryn?" Seven whispered.

The words nearly sent Kathryn into paroxysms of shivers at the proximity of the Borg. _This was a mistake_, she thought miserably. _I should never have offered my house to her and now her children. _

Kathryn let her arms drop and she executed a concise Starfleet-style about-face. "You were right," Kathryn said. "Even if we were not heterosexuals, the nature of our relationship precluded any further…explorations."

"Captain to crewmember," Seven added.

"Exactly. I see you understand," Janeway said, marching toward her bedroom door on the first floor. "It was about time we cleared the air." She looked back at Seven, a smile on her face. "Good night, Seven."

=/\=

Seven was not deceived by the contrived cheerfulness on Kathryn's face. "Kathryn, I am in love with you."

Seven was relieved to see that her tactic of last resort had barred Kathryn Janeway's untimely retreat. With a hand still gripping the door jamb and her back still facing Seven, Kathryn lowered her head. "You can't be," she finally said.

"Four years ago, I was hardly aware of the feelings I had—"

"You loved Chakotay."

"Incorrect," Seven whispered, as she approached Kathryn's forbidding posture. "It was you that I loved so much that I marshaled the formidable power of the Borg to restrain myself from pursuing you."

Kathryn raised her head, but still she refused to face the woman.

"My original hypothesis—namely that someone else could satisfy me—was found to be inaccurate," she said quietly. She nearly smiled when Kathryn finally turned to face her. But her features remained stoic, engineered into the careful mask of the cold detachment of command. But Seven was undeterred. "But I was determined to find a way…to see you again, but not as a subordinate, nor as the wife of another."

"Seven," Kathryn whispered in a cracked voice.

"You yourself have said we are equals, you and I."

"I did say that, but…."

"We have lived together for six weeks. We are also compatible."

Kathryn glanced at the painting behind Seven. "I can't deny that."

"But you remain unconvinced."

Kathryn finally focused on Seven, giving her a sympathetic look. "But you are under the influence of Romulan Merlot, Seven. In the morning, you may come to your senses—"

"I have not imbibed that vile liquid," Seven said with a sharp hint of disgust.

Kathryn gave her a sad look. "Your glass is empty, Seven." She nodded to the mantle, where four flutes stood under the painting. Three remained nearly full.

Seven walked to one of the rhododendrons hanging from a ceiling hook beside the large living room window. She reached up and scooped out a bit of wet soil and offered it to Kathryn. "Your plant has imbibed in my place," she stated.

Kathryn's nose flared at the distinct fruity aroma of the robust (and strictly prohibited) Romulan Merlot.

Seven replaced the soil and shook off the dirt into the dark fireplace. Then she faced Kathryn. "You're objections have been demolished one by one." Her eyebrow arched up. "Are there any more?"

Kathryn pursed her lips. "No," she said.

But still she did not take the lead. Seven heard the words of the old Admiral echo in her head. So she turned to the painting to practice patience. "Do you like your sister's work of art?"

=/\=

Kathryn looked up at the picture. The creamy curves were sensual and she could almost take in the musky scent of sex from the portrait _en flagrante_. It served to enflame her senses. She looked over at the waiting Borg, who smiled faintly.

_Take her.  
><em>

That was the faint echo of her alter-ego issuing a command from somewhere out in time and space. But Janeway didn't think she needed anymore help from that Admiral Janeway. _You are relieved_, _Admiral_, she thought to the older woman. _Thank you very much. _

Then Kathryn drew closer to Seven. It was delicious to acquiesce at last to her body's cry. She laid an index finger on Seven's dimpled chin, rubbing softly as she indulged her eyes for a brief moment. She couldn't help but curl the corners of her mouth at the utter trust in Seven's eyes. Then she tipped Seven's head and watched with satisfaction as Seven's lips parted in anticipation.

The merging of their lips was so delicate a touch and oh so fleeting that Kathryn felt destitute and stricken when they parted. But a nanosecond latter, Kathryn felt a warm palm cupped her neck. She felt a thumb stroke the strands of silver and auburn by her ear.

=/\=

Seven's mouth was a mere millimeters from Kathryn's. She could feel the heat of her breath. If she swayed slightly, she felt the decadence of Kathryn's chest pressing her own bosom. Seven noted her own increase in respiration, blood pressure and heart rate.

She was surprised by the response of her body when Kathryn palmed one of her breasts. Her nipple pebbled and then her body arched into her touch. She heard Kathryn whisper her name and Seven felt compelled to get closer. She dipped herself to capture Kathryn's lips again; but this time, Seven was not contented with the gentle caresses. Her greedy tongue swiped at Kathryn's lips. Though she was the one to demand a deeper kiss, it was Kathryn's tongue that invaded her own mouth, swirling around her own. The silky texture and the delicious taste of her mouth began to merge. Seven began to twist her head, trying to angle—get closer, take everything Kathryn offered. I want to touch her, Seven thought. Her hands roamed frenetically over the woman's back, down her sides only to find the enticing posterior that she squeezed.

Kathryn's moan into her mouth, the vibrations and the sheer intimacy was like an accelerant on the flame of passion. It blazed hotter in Seven than she'd ever experienced. Her physically response was already off the charts of what she considered to be within normal parameters. Her heart was beating like a Rigellian stallion winning the Ferengi Derby.

Suddenly, Seven registered Kathryn pushing gently on her shoulders and she pulled back, inhaling deeply as she searched the older woman's face. "Kathryn," she whispered with concern.

Kathryn cupped Seven's cheek. "I'm sorry," she said through her panting. "I needed to breathe. I'm not Borg, remember."

"I…" Only then did Seven realize she was also panting and that her oxygen levels had dipped drastically. How did she not notice that? But that last question was lost in the need for me. "Kathryn, I want to make love with you…"

Kathryn seized Seven's hand and dragged her into her bedroom. It was a dark Spartan room, with a large, traditional four-poster bed and a wooden night stand. The moonbeams bathed the yellow floral pattern of the bed covering.

Kathryn twirled Seven around and took both of her hands, kissing the knuckles of each. "Is this all right?" she asked.

Seven reached for the top button of Kathryn's crumpled and stained white blouse. "Yes," Seven managed, as she slipped the round fasteners through the holes. When it hung open, Seven stared at the still wrapped twin beauties and she keened softly.

Kathryn answered Seven's soft mewling with a hard kiss. Seven surrendered to the overwhelming sensory overload and before she'd consciously catalogued it, her own clothes, including bra and panties, had been discarded on a heap by a single sofa chair in the corner.

Kathryn's eyes bathed the blonde beauty by moonlight as Seven struggled to regain her breath. "Kathryn, I…" Rolling fingers at her nipple silenced her. Again, Seven's body responded before she could will it to do so. Kathryn's lips at her throat made her eyes roll back into her head. She'd never been aware that she was capable of…

_What was I saying?_ Seven thought as she cried out for more.

Without knowing how she'd been laid prone, Seven reached up and shredded Kathryn's offending bra and shirt. "Anxious, are we?" the woman said in a husky voice laced with humor.

"I need you, Captain…." Seven's legs opened to receive the semi clad woman.

"Oh, darling, I'm right here," Kathryn whispered, as she settled down, rubbing her pants against Seven's moist center.

Seven wrapped her legs around Kathryn's middle, drawing her close. She sobbed when Kathryn's mouth covered a nipple. She wanted to plan how she would make Kathryn cry out in the same ecstasy but every time she tried, Seven of Nine was diverted by another mind-blanking sensation.

Seven felt as if every nerve were alive and connected to her clitoris. Every touch, every lick and squeeze sent a direct electrical impulse there and it throbbed. Just when she thought she could rise no further, Kathryn's hand snaked between their two bodies. She felt a brush of questing fingers along her pubic hair.

"That is the correct route," Seven cried.

Kathryn's chuckle vibrated against her swollen nipple and Seven arched her back so sharply she believed that her spine was dangerously close to snapping. Kathryn blew on her nipple and Seven's head thrashed side to side in response.

Without knowing how she'd traveled upward, Seven felt Kathryn whisper against the shell of her ear. "Seven, darling…. Can you loosen your legs a bit?"

Only then did the Seven realize she held Kathryn's body in a vise grip. She looked down to ensure that her legs obeyed. She was no longer certain she held any control over her limbs or the entirety of her body. As she panted, Seven watched Kathryn's hand slip down. She nearly bucked the woman off the bed when she'd touched her sopping lips.

"Whoa, Seven," Kathryn whispered sweetly. "It's all right. I've got you."

The touch of a single finger drove Seven so high, she felt that she would spiral down in a tangling mass of nucleonic energy. But she needed something else, something elusive. "More, Captain," she whimpered. "More…"

Her hips surged up to meet Kathryn's delicate touch, trying to impale herself on a finger. Her arms tried to gather Kathryn's bare back, to merge them together. She spread her legs wider and raised them higher, trying to take the woman deeper into herself.

Kathryn lifted herself on an elbow and looked deeply into Seven's eyes, all the while two fingers toyed with the sopping seam of Seven's sex. "I want to see you," she whispered. "Please open your eyes, darling. I want to see you when you cum."

Seven struggled to open her eyes but she was rewarded with a kiss for doing so.

"I want to see your beautiful rapture when you cum…"

"Come?" Seven struggled to say.

"You know…climax."

Every time Kathryn's fingers slipped close to the swollen nub, Seven thrust herself up, lifting nearly half her body off of the mattress. "More…" Seven pleaded.

"All right, my darling…." And Kathryn slipped two fingers into the woman. "So wet…"

Only then did Seven's nostrils flare at the scent of her own arousal and she felt her vaginal walls gripping Kathryn's fingers. "Captain…" she implored again.

Before she'd even finished, she felt it. She could faintly hear the slippery friction of three fingers sliding into her. The smallest pressure of Kathryn's thumb against her clitoris forced her body to bow, every muscle taut. Every function of her body was off the charts, but Seven did not care. She only cared about getting closer, pressing her entire being against the thumb and when she did.

Seven heard a series of unintelligible words issue from her mouth, as ecstasy like none she'd ever known exploded in a dazzling wave after wave of pleasure. "Oh, Captain! I love you! I love you!" She'd barely managed to keep her eyes open through the first declaration.

As she finally descended from the crescendo, Seven could hear her voice was hoarse and still she cried out her love for the woman on top of her. Her arms and legs collapsed. Her held fell back. Her breathing was labored, even as Kathryn coaxed the last remaining contractions from her seared body.

Only when she felt the fingers slip from her body did she open her eyes. "I love you," she said in a husky voice.

Kathryn smiled, as she laid her head by her pillow. "So I heard, along with half of our neighbors."

Seven looked puzzled.

"You were very loud, my darling."

The puzzling look continued. "I do not remember my volume."

Kathryn nuzzled her ear. "'S'okay. It was beautiful. You are beautiful."

"I have never lost control in that manner," Seven said, stroking Kathryn's still-clad thigh.

Kathryn's smile turned rakish. "You're very responsive."

"To you, I am," Seven said. "For you."

"And you called me Captain."

Seven realized she was being teased. She adjusted Kathryn's head on her shoulder and smiled, stroking the strands of the woman's hair. "Did I?"

"Several times."

"I was momentarily disoriented. It will not happen again."

=/\=

Kathryn inhaled sharply, as she nudged one of Seven's legs. Seven nudged her leg in the same manner.

"Your pubic hairs are glistening," Seven called from somewhere near the top of the bed.

"Yours too," she whispered before kissing the pink lips. She moaned when Seven mirrored her efforts.

"Your clitoris is swollen to two hundred percent its normal size," Seven said.

"You don't say," Kathryn said with a smirk. "Yours, too."

When Kathryn took Seven's clit into her mouth, she didn't expect any more blow-by-blow commentaries from her partner.

"You taste salty…" Seven replied after a long, moaning swipe of her tongue.

Kathryn's throaty laugh was swallowed, but the vibrations did their job. She had to clamp down Seven's hips to keep her from bucking right out of her mouth.

"Captain!" the Borg cried. "Oh, Captain!"

Kathryn flicked her tongue around the small, but powerful organ. She chuckled again, sending Seven into a spasm of pre-orgasmic bliss. Her chuckle was met with a mouth closing over her own clitoris. "Oh, god!" she shouted in response. "Oh, dear god."

Seven answered Kathryn's finger thrusts with her own. The mirrored actions did their work, sending them both into orbit simultaneously.

"Captain," cried Seven, even as Kathryn shouted her own response: "Seven…I love you!"

Kathryn wiped her face on the sheet before she crawled up six feet of curvaceous, buxom Borg. She kissed Seven softly before nestling down beside her. "You did it again," she whispered against the silky skin.

Seven adjusted herself, letting her fingertips lightly fall on freckled shoulder blades. "You finally proclaimed your feelings," she replied.

Kathryn opened a single eye and rose up to meet Seven's look. "I've always loved you," she said. Then she tenderly kissed the Borg before snuggling in again.

"Since what stardate?" Seven inquired.

"Since always," Kathryn responded with a yawn.

"When I boarded Voyager?"

"Yes."

"When I board Voyager as a hairless, Borg drone?"

"Even then."

"That is not logical," Seven replied as if she were ready to face another day, though the moon had already set and the sun had yet to make an appearance.

"Love is never logical, my darling," she murmured in a voice thick with drowsy.

"No, perhaps not," Seven said, her eyes wide open as she scanned the imperfections of the ceiling of Kathryn's bedroom. "But you are a better kisser than the alternate timeline Janeway."

Kathryn shot to an elbow. "You kissed her?"

Seven's lips faintly curled. Her eyes trailed the stray strands of auburn that rebelled around Kathryn's head. A hand tried to smooth one side down. "Incorrect," she replied.

"But you said…."

"I informed you that you are a better kisser than the other Kathryn."

"Then?"

"I did not kiss _her_. She kissed me."

Kathryn mumbled a curse at her alter-ego before returning to her warm spot beside Seven. "Did she kiss every crewmember?" she muttered.

"She is gone and we should be grateful," Seven whispered, still absent-mindedly smoothing her palm against Kathyrn's hair. "She gave her life for this, for us."

Kathryn kissed Seven's chin. "You're right. I am grateful. But I'd like to get a little shut eye so we can celebrate in another hour or so."

"The children will rise at six hundred hours," Seven said, snatching a glance at the chronometer.

Kathryn opened a single eye to take her own readings. "Have you ever had a quickie?" she asked.

Seven pondered her response. "Not an orgasmic 'quickie,'" she said with all seriousness.

"Something to shoot for," she murmured before nodding off.

=/\=

A shaft of light finally spilled onto a closed eyelid and it fluttered open. Seven of Nine sat up, a simple white sheet pool around her waist, exposing the prominences at her chest. She looked around the nearly empty room. Though Kathryn had lived in this house for four years, it lacked any personal mementos, like much of the rest of her home.

Seven was surprised to see the lateness of the hour: 0730 hours meant that her sons had been awake for awake for at least ninety minutes. She felt the side of Kathryn's bed. It was cold.

Seven cocked an ear and heard the faint murmurs of three voices. Then she heard a cry. She bounded out of bed, dressing as she walked toward the bathroom door. She managed to tidy herself up sufficiently before hearing another outburst.

She found the threesome in the kitchen. Kathryn was frowning as she lifted the disposal to accept the contents of a plate of food. "So long pancakes," she said ceremoniously. "We hardly knew ya."

"Bye pancakes," Eric said.

Haakon, barely able to see over the tall, metal receptacle repeated the phrase in a cacophony of slurs. Then he tossed in his metal fork.

Kathryn tried to snatch it in the air, but missed. It hit the bottom with a dull thunk. "I guess we can buy more," she said.

"I'm still hungwy," Eric declared.

"Hungwy! Hungwy! Hungwy!" cried Haakon.

"Of course, you are," Kathryn said, trying to wipe some syrup from Eric's cheek with a napkin. He shook his head like a whirling dervish until she gave up. "That's what happens when someone burns breakfast."

The three still had not taken note of Seven, leaning on the door jamb and taking in the scene with no small amount of satisfaction.

Kathryn turned to the counter. "How's about a banana—just until our breakfast arrives?" She peeled one back and offered it to Eric, making Haakon cry. "Oh, Hawk," she cooed. "How's about one for you, too."

With a mouth full of nearly the entire banana, Eric said: "It's 'how about…,' not how's about, you know."

She smiled and then gave him a serious nod. "Thank you, Eric. Whatever would I do without you?"

"Maybe not buwn bweakfast."

She put a hand on his shoulder and winked. "I've been burning meals long before you were born, my friend. It's my gift. Deal with it."

"That's a dumb gift," he replied.

She just laughed until Hawk started to bang his plate. "Hungwy! Hungwy!"

Seven left the spectator seats of the kitchen, just in time to catch the irreplaceable china plate in mid-air. "Haakon Hansen! No," she said, before kissing him on the forehead.

Seven turned to kiss Eric on the lips. "You taste like banana, Eric," she said seriously. "It is my favorite."

He crinkled his nose. "I ate one, mom. But I thought you wike stwawberries."

"Strawberries and you and your brother are my very favorite."

Seven finally met Kathryn's intense gaze. "Good morning, Kathryn," she said. She surprised her lover with a peck on the lips. "You are my favorite as well," she murmured against the trembling lips.

Kathryn glanced nervously at the children, but they were already complaining about wanting more food. "I burned the pancakes," she admitted to Seven with a frown. "But I ordered in!"

"There was a 97 percent probability of such," Seven said.

Kathryn laughed at Seven's soft smirk, as she passed. "You're welcome," she replied.

Seven looked back at her from over a shoulder. "For what am I thankful?"

"For letting you sleep in after your rather…_busy_ night."

Seven stopped short of the cupboards and turned. "I am very grateful and surprised I slept until this hour."

"You needed your rest," Kathryn said.

Seven retrieved a coffee mug and filled it from the full carafe on the counter. She proffered it to Kathryn with a flourish. "Your sustenance," she said.

"Thank you. I certainly need this."

"Indeed," she whispered, leaning closer to lay a forearm on Kathryn's shoulder. She could feel Kathryn's heat rising. "You will require every ounce of fuel for the post-bedtime festivities." She peeled back the collar of the brown blouse and placed a kiss in the curve of Kathryn's neck. Seven smiled when she heard the woman suck in some air.

"A tease?" she asked with a crooked grin.

Seven dropped her arm and arched a brow. "A promise."

"Mom!" Eric called. "I'm stiw hungwy."

"Me, too! Me too! Me too."

Seven left a panting Kathryn to recover on her own. "Kathryn has ordered breakfast. It should be delivered…." The doorbell interrupted Seven's narrative. "How timely." As she exited the kitchen, she brushed by Kathryn, pinching a buttock as she departed.

"Seven!" Kathryn shouted.

"What?" Eric asked.

Kathryn ignored the question by setting a clean plate down for the boy and then his brother. "Don't throw this one, Hawk," she admonished softly. "These are the last clean plates left."

"Why don't you have a wepwicatow?"

"I'm going to get one," she said. "You can bet on that."

Carrying several large white bags, Seven set them on the counter. "Kathryn, what did you order?"

Kathryn frowned. "Breakfast isn't deliverable," she said. "So I ordered Chinese."

Seven frowned at her partner, even as Eric cheered. "I wove Chinese, but we can't have it much."

Kathryn grimaced. "Sorry," she mouthed to Seven, who pretended to be mortified.

She removed the boxes of food, examining each in turn. She placed them in serving bowls before setting them on the table. "Oh, fwied wice!" Eric yelled gleefully to his brother.

Haakon dipped his finger into the sauce of the sweet and sour pork. "Hmm," he said. "Honey."

Seven chided the boy about manners and germs before joining them at the table. As she began to spoon over rice and pork, Seven added: "Remember. This is a special occasion and we shall not be eating Chinese for breakfast again."

"Aww, mom," Eric said. His brother imitating him to a T.

Kathryn took a bite of an egg roll and remarked to Seven: "Chinese food is full of lots of carbohydrates." Then she waggled her eyebrows.

"Carbohydwates are tasty," Eric added.

"Indeed," Kathryn replied with a chuckle.

"I can see that a disturbing alliance has formed," she said.

Kathryn watched the boy as he happily pretended to eat his breakfast with chopsticks. "Mere happenstance," she replied. "My mistake, my choice. Who's to say he won't hate my next choice for take-out."

=/\=

Later that day, Kathryn toweled herself off. The children would be napping soon. She shivered at the thought of making love to Seven again. And again. And again. She dried her hair and stepped out into the living room. The house was quiet except for the Old Grandfather clock and a pair of voices in the kitchen.

She stepped into the kitchen expecting to see Seven with her sons. She was surprised to see that the boys were nowhere and Seven was conversing with Chakotay on a commlink.

"We will remain here," she said adamantly.

His image flickered slightly. "Janeway doesn't want you there," he said. "She's used to the swinging single life."

Seven studied him for a moment and just before Kathryn stepped forward to defend herself and Seven, the Borg replied.

"You are incorrect, Chakotay. Kathryn wants me here. She wants _us_ here."

"You don't know that—"

"We copulated last night—"

"You what?"

"Seven!" Kathryn finally said, coming to stop next to her. "I can't believe—"

"And I orgasmed…"

Before Kathryn covered her burning face with hand, she noted the smug expression on Seven's face.

"Four times."

Kathryn groaned. "Really, Seven," she whispered from under her hand.

"So did Kathryn."

Kathryn dropped her hand and scowled. "Seven! Why are you doing this?"

"Evidence," she stated calmly. "Chakotay believes I am frigid." She stared coldly at the screen where her ex-husband's image was projected. "I am not. He did not want to believe in the alternate Janeway's predictions that we would find love."

Seven took Kathryn's hand, kissing the knuckles. "When we did," she whispered. She tugged Kathryn closer, effectively bringing her into the view of Chakotay. "Tell him, Kathryn."

Still holding Seven's hand, Kathryn faced her former First Officer. She offered an unsettled smile to him. "Hello Chakotay," she replied.

"Hello, Kathryn." He fumbled with papers on his desk, as if he were trying to distract himself. "So is it true? You and Seven are together?"

Before answering, she looked into the burning depths of the Borg woman beside her. She was going to provide an official-sounding response, pointedly terse and devoid of any warmth. But something in Seven's eyes melted her resolve. Instead, she kissed the woman on the mouth before answering. "Yes, Seven and I are together." She looked back at him, pain in his face.

"So I guess that it's it. The old admiral won." He looked resigned.

"And you are alive and so is Seven," Kathryn noted for the record. "This isn't really a winner-take-all moment, is it?"

"Only the winner could ask that," he responded. "Seven, I'll call soon to make arrangements to spend time with the boys." Chakotay reached for the controls, but stopped himself. "Being a full-time stepmother won't be easy…"

_Stepmother!_ Kathryn thought without giving away her alarm.

"But the boys are a package deal."

Understanding dawned on Kathryn. "They are the careening ship that you tried to save me from," she said thoughtfully.

He nodded once, a corner of his mouth pulled up to a half smile. "Life with children can be out-of-control. That's a scary proposition for someone in command."

Kathryn noticed that Seven was intently studying her, no doubt curious about her response and what it could mean for their future together. She twined their fingers together and patted Seven's hand with her own. "I think it's what I needed," she whispered into the eyes of the woman next to her. "I tried to find a little bit of spontaneity at the bottom of a bottle. But it only left me thirsty. But today…" She pursed her lips into a suppressed smile. "Even after I burned breakfast…I felt alive, Seven."

Seven lunged at her, cupping the back of Kathryn's head and crushing their lips together in a frenzied kiss. They broke only when Chakotay cleared his throat. Kathryn felt her lips tingling from the force of Seven's gesture. But she refrained from brushing them with the back of her hand. Instead, she leaned into Seven and faced her ex-husband.

"So that's it," he said despondently. "I'll call you soon. Goodbye."

His image blipped out and Kathryn studied Seven for any signs of distress. There was none, but there was anxiousness. She watched the muscles at Seven's neck flex as she strained to look at the chronometer behind her. "We have exactly one-point-two-five hours," Seven whispered, hauling Kathryn from the kitchen to the doorway. "By my calculations, we can each achieve at least two orgasms. But we must hurry."

"At least," Kathryn said as she allowed herself to be pulled into her bedroom. _Our bedroom now._

The End.


End file.
